•ROMANCES 


CHIVALRY  , 

TOLD    AND    ILLUSTRATED 
IN   F AC-SI  MILE 


JOHN    ASHTON 


THE    DAWN    OF 
CENTURY,"  "OLD  TIMES," 
LIFE    IN    THE    KEIGN 
QUEEN    ANNE," 


LONDON : 
T.   FISHER  UNWIN 

MDCCCLXXXVII 


*      *  W  C 


THE   MYSTERY  OF  MELUSINE   DISCOVERED.          [Frontispiece. 


PREFACE. 


TO  the  general  reader  the  Romances  of  Chivalry  are 
very  little  known,  some  of  them  not  at  all  ;  and  the 
reason  of  this  is,  that  no  efforts  have  been  made  to 
popularize  them.  Originating,  as  they  did,  with  the  pro- 
fessional story-tellers  of  Norman  times,  they  were,  first  of 
all,  metrical  histories  of  the  deeds  of  heroes,  like  those 
which  the  Minstrel  Taillefer  sung  at  the  Battle  of  Hastings, 
when  he  went  before  William,  chanting  of  Charlemagne 
and  Roland.  Soon  these  were  garnished  with  tales  of 
love,  and,  after  a  time,  imagination  was  called  into  play, 
and  the  Romance  was  written.  They  were  the  Novels  of 
the  thirteenth  to  the  seventeenth  centuries,  and  must  ever 
be  thought  of  in  that  light  ;  they  were  highly  sensational, 
and  full  of  incident,  never  prolix,  or  with  long-winded 
speeches,  till  they  were  on  the  wane,  at  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth  and  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  centuries  ;  and 
many  of  them  have  survived  to  our  days  in  a  condensed 


vi  PREFACE. 

form,  as  chap-books,  or  books  for  children— a  fact  which 
sufficiently  shows  the  hold  they  had  upon  the  people. 

Some,  nay  most  of  them,  have  been  edited  and  reprinted 
for  the  learned  societies  ;  but  then  only  the  oldest,  or 
rarest  MSS.,  or  printed  copies,  have  been  thus  treated, 
and  they  have  seldom  travelled  far  from  the  bookshelves 
of  the  subscribers  to  these  societies.  And  the  reason  is 
not  far  to  seek.  The  language  in  which  they  are  written 
is  far  too  archaic  for  the  ordinary  reader,  and  requires  a 
special  antiquarian  education.  The  language  of  the  four- 
teenth and  fifteenth  centuries  is  totally  different  from  the 
English  of  to-day,  and  no  ordinary  person  would  care 
about  sitting  down  to  read  a  book  which  would  be  unin- 
telligible to  him,  were  he  not  to  refer  to  a  glossary  at  every 
line. 

Weber,  Ritson,  and  Thorns,  did  something  to  bring  them 
into  notice,  and  there  is  the  best  book  of  all  on  the  subject 
in  Bohn's  Antiquarian  Library ;  but  its  usefulness  is 
marred  by  that  awful  word  "antiquarian."  People  will 
not  believe  that  anything  can  be  amusing  if  under  that 
heading — it  must  be  dry  as  dust.  The  popularity  of  our 
archaeological  societies  has  somewhat  dispelled  this  notion, 
but  the  prejudice  remains  generally. 

Is  there  any  reason  why  they  should  not  be  made  as 
attractive  as  other  stories  ?  People  will  read  the  Northern 
Sagas,  or  North  American  Indian  legends,  and  tales  of 
wonder ;  fairy  and  folk-lore  tales  are  eagerly  perused  ; 


PREFACE.  vii 

whilst  the  Oriental  Romances  of  the  Thousand  and  One 
Nights  are  devoured,  not  only  by  the  young,  but  by 
children  of  a  larger  growth.  These  Romances  of  Chivalry 
deal  in  no  greater  marvels  than  are  contained  in  the  fore- 
going examples,  and  they  do  give  us  a  wonderful  insight 
into  the  manners  and  customs  of  our  own  country,  centuries 
ago. 

Another  reason  why  these  Romances  have  not  been  so 
popular  as  they  might  have  been  is,  that  they  have  never 
been  illustrated ;  there  has  never  been  an  attempt  to 
reproduce  the  contemporary  engravings,  which  are  so 
deliciously  quaint,  and  which  throw  so  much  light  on  the 
manners  and  costumes  of  the  period.  Many  of  these 
wood  blocks  are  far  older  than  the  date  of  the  books 
which  they  adorn,  as  may  be  seen  by  the  broken  edges 
and  worm-holes,  and  have  probably  illustrated  some  pre- 
vious edition  now  lost  to  us.  To  render  these  Romances 
more  interesting  to  the  general  reader,  I  have  facsimiled 
the  engravings,  and,  as  they  are  my  own  work,  I  can 
guarantee  their  fidelity. 

In  making  this  selection,  I  have  carefully  avoided  those 
relating  to  Charlemagne,  believing  that  the  Carlovingian 
Romances  ought  to  be  made  into  a  series  of  their  own  ;  and 
I  have  not  touched  on  the  Arthurian  legends,  which  might 
well  make  another  ;  but  I  have  taken  those  which  were 
thoroughly  independent,  each  of  which  could  stand  on  its 
own  merits,  without  reference  to  another. 


Vlll 


PREFACE. 


The  advanced  student  may  possibly  grumble  at  the 
number  of  foot-notes  I  have  appended,  in  order  to  elucidate 
the  text,  but  my  object  has  been,  that  every  one,  of  average 
intelligence,  who  reads  the  book,  may  thoroughly  under- 
stand it,  and  that  without  constantly  referring  to  a  glossary, 
which,  however,  will  be  found  at  the  end. 

JOHN   ASHTON. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

MELUSINE I 

SIR  ISUMBRAS 8l 

SIR  DEGORE IOI 

SIR  BEVIS  OF   HAMPTON 121 

SIR  TRYAMOURE 171 

THE  SQUYR  OF  LOWE  DEGRE IQI 

THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWANNE 2O$ 

VALENTINE  AND  ORSON 235 

SIR  EGLAMOURE  OF  ARTOYS 257 

GUY  OF  WARWICK     .........  273 

ROBERT  THE  DEVYLL 303 

HOWLEGLAS 323 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  MELUSINE  DISCOVERED      .  .  Frontispiece 

THE  EARL  OF  POITIERS'   FEAST 3 

RAYMONDIN  IS  LEFT  WITH  HIS  UNCLE 7 

THE  EARL  DISCOURSES  OF  ASTRONOMY II 

RAYMONDIN  BY  MISCHANCE  KILLS  HIS  UNCLE     .       .       .  1$ 

RAYMONDIN'S  FIRST  MEETING  WITH  MELUSINE       .       .  19 

.RAYMONDIN  TAKES  LEAVE  OF  MELUSINE        ....  23 

RAYMONDIN  AND   MELUSINE  AT  THE  CHAPEL   ....  27 

RAYMONDIN  ASKS  A  BOON  OF  THE  EARL        .          .           .           .  31 

RAYMONDIN  MEASURES   HIS  LAND 35 

MARRIAGE  OF  RAYMONDIN  AND  MELUSINE    ....  39 

BLESSING  THE  NUPTIAL   BED 45 

•GEOFFREY  WITH  THE  GREAT  TOOTH   BURNING  THE  ABBEY  OF 

MAILLIERES 55 

THE  FAINTING  OF  MELUSINE ,  6 1 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  MELUSINE 65 

THE  KING'S  PUNISHMENT 75 

.SIR  ISUMBRAS    .  Si 


xii  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAGE 

SIR  DEGORE  .          . IOI 

SIR  GUY  TRAITOROUSLY  SLAIN   BY  SIR  MURDURE  .          .  124 

BEVIS   FIGHTS  THE  FORESTERS 132 

SIR  BEVIS  FIGHTS  AND  OVERCOMES  ASCAPARTE      .          .          .  151 

ASCAPARTE  CARRIES  SIR    BEVIS  AND   JOSIAN   ON    BOARD  SHIP  152 

SYR  TRYAMOURE I?! 

THE  SQUYR  OF  LOWE  DEGRE 1 91 

THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWANNE 205 

KING  ORIANT  MEETS  BEATRICE 2OQ 

KING  ORIANT  AND  BEATRICE  RIDING  HOME  .          .          .  211 

THE  TREACHERY  OF  QUEEN  MATABRUNE  .  .          .          .214 

THE  CHILDREN  MIRACULOUSLY  SUCKLED        .          .  .          .  2l6 

THE  CHILDREN  TURNED  INTO  SWANS 22O 

COMBAT  BETWEEN  HELIAS  AND  MAKAIRE     ....       224 

THE  CHILDREN  OF  HELIAS  AT  SPORT 233 

VALENTINE  AND  ORSON 235 

FATE  OF  VALENTINE  AND  ORSON      .       .       .  .       .237 

ORSON  SUCKLED  BY  A  BEAR 239 

SYR  EGLAMOURE  OF  ARTOYS 257 

GUY  OF  WARWICK  SAILING  FOR  ENGLAND    .       .       .       .       291 
GUY'S  FIGHT  WITH  THE  GIANT  COLBROND       .       .       .       .297 

ROBERT  THE  DEVYLL 303 

BIRTH  OF  ROBERT  THE  DEVYLL 307 

ROBERT'S  FATHER  ADVISING  WITH  HIS  NOBLES    .       .       .       311 
ROBERT  CAUSES  A  STRONG  CASTLE  TO  BE  BUILT    .       .       .312 

ROBERT  VISITS  THE  HERMIT 316 

HOWLEGLAS 323 

EULENSPIEGEL 326 


ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 


flDeluafne. 

THIS    Romance,   separated   from   the   other   stories 
which    are    interwoven    with    it,    is    one   of  the 
prettiest,  and  daintiest,  of  the  fanciful  tales  of  the 
so-called  middle  ages.      It  is  the  story  of  the  fabled  rise 
of  the  celebrated  French  family  of  Lusignan  in  Poitiers — 
Sovereign    Counts   of  Forez,  or   Forest,  which   furnished 
kings  to  Jerusalem  and  Cyprus.1 

There  are  those,  however,  who  hardly  look  upon  the 
Fairy  Melusine  as  supernatural,  but  contend  that  she 
was  a  very  living  and  corporal  being,  named  Melisende, 

1  "  A  Royal  Claimant  has  just  disappeared,  in  the  person  of  a  Russian  officer, 
named  Lusignan,  who  held  himself  entitled  to  the  crown  of  Cyprus.  His 
death  does  not,  however,  remove  all  danger  of  our  right  to  rule  the  island 
being  some  day  contested,  for  he  has  left  a  son,  the  solitary  attendant  at  his 
funeral,  who  claims  not  only  to  be  King  of  Cyprus,  but  of  Jerusalem  and 
Armenia.  The  Sultan  may  have  some  trouble,  therefore,  as  well  as  ourselves." 
—Globe,  July  10,  1884. 


2  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

widow  of  a  king  of  Jerusalem,  who  married  a  Geoffrey 
de  Lusignan  ;  but  there  seems  to  be  no  foundation  for 
this  report,  and,  to  believe  it,  would  be  to  render  devoid 
of  all  interest  the  charming  fabliau  of  Jean  d'Arras, 
which  was  written  by  him  at  the  command  of  the  Due 
de  Berri,  who  was  brother  to  Charles  V.  of  France.  His 
sister,  the  Duchesse  de  Bar,  was  probably  tired  of  the 
sameness  of  chateau  life,  and  the  Due,  in  order  to  amuse 
her,  ordered  his  secretary  to  write  the  story  of  Melusine 
for  her  delectation. 

And  right  well  did  he  acquit  himself  of  his  commis- 
sion, for  the  story,  pur  et  simple,  is  simply  and  most 
pathetically  told.  The  text  which  I  follow,  and  which 
has  never  been  printed,  is  an  English  translation  of  the 
Romance  of  Jean  d'Arras,  a  MS.  of  the  I5th  century, 
luckily  preserved  in  the  British  Museum  (Royal  18,  B.  II.), 
and  it  commences  thus :  "  In  the  begynnyng  of  all 
works  /  men  oughten  first  of  alle  to  call  (on)  the  name 
of  the  Creator  of  all  creatures  /  which  is  very  and  trew 
maister  of  alle  thinges  made  or  to  be  made  that  oughten 
somwhat  to  entende  to  perfection  of  wele.  Therefore 
att  the  begynnynge  of  this  present  historye  /  though 
that  I  ne  be  not  worthy  for  to  requyre  hym  /  beseche 
ryght  devoutly,  his  right  highe  and  worthy  mageste 
that  this  present  history  he  wyl  helpe  me  to  bring  unto 
a  good  ende  /  and  to  ful  doo  it  att  (to)  hys  glorye  and 
praysyng.  And  to  the  plaisure  of  my  right  high  mighte 


THE   EARL   OF   POITIERS'    FEAST. 


13. 


MELUSINE.  5 

and  doubtid  r  lord  Johan,  sone  to  the  Kyng  of  ffraunce, 
Dfis  of  Berry  and  of  Auvergne.  The  whiche  hystory 
I  have  bygone  after  the  veray  and  true  cyronykles  whiche 
I  have  had  of  hy  and  of  the  Erie  of  Salesbury  in 
England,  and  many  other  bokes  that  I  have  sought 
&  ordredde  for  to  accomplysshe  hit.  And  by  cause 
that  his  noble  suster  Marye  doughter  to  the  Kyng 
John  of  ffraunce,  duchesse  of  Bar  had  requyred  my  said 
lord  for  to  have  the  said  historye,  the  whiche  in  favour 
of  her  hath  doon  as  moche  to  his  power  as  he  might 
to  serche  the  very  trouth  &  true  historye  /  and  hath 
comanded  me  to  do  drawe  alle  alonge  thistory  whiche 
herafter  foloweth  /  .  And  I  as  of  herte  dyligent  of  my 
poure  witt  &  connying  (write)  as  nygh  as  I  can  the 
pure  trouth  of  hys  gracyos  comandement.  Wherfore 
I  humbly  &  devoutly  beseche  &  pray  to  my  Creatour 
that  my  said  lord  will  take  it  in  gr(a)ce  /  and  also  all 
them  that  shall  rede  or  here  it  /  that  they  wil  pardonne 
me  yf  I  have  said  enythinge  that  ben  not  to  theire  good 
gr(a)ce.  Whiche  this  present  hystorye  I  byganne  the 
Wensday  saynt  dementis  day  in  Winter  the  yer  of 
or  Lord,  m.ccc.lxxxvii.  beseching  alle  them  that  shall 
rede  or  here  it  redde  that  they  wil  pardonne  me  my 
fawte  if  their  be  eny,  ffor  certaynly  I  have  composed  yt 
the  moost  justly  that  I  conde  or  have  mowe  after  the 
cronykles  whiche  I  suppose  certaynly  to  be  trew." 

1  Doughty,  brave,  valiant. 


Strasburg. 

1478  ?  fol. 

55 

1480?   „ 

Augsburg. 

1538     „ 

Tholosa. 

1489  4° 

Sevilla. 

1526  fol. 

6  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Here,  then,  we  get  undoubted  evidence  both  as  to 
the  author  and  the  date  of  its  writing.  It  must  have 
been  very  popular  on  the  Continent,  for  a  copy  printed 
in  French,  and  printed  at  Geneva  in  1478,  is  in  ex- 
istence ;  whilst  at  the  British  Museum  we  possess  some 
very  early  ones. 

In  German. 

j? 

J5 

In  Spanish. 

5J 

From  that  published  at  Tholosa  I  have  copied  the 
illustrations  which  I  have  used,  and  believe  them  to  be 
of  French  work.  They  are  in  draughtsmanship  and 
expression  almost  in  advance  of  their  time,  and,  cer- 
tainly, are  the  best  woodcuts  of  any  Romance  we  possess. 

Singularly  enough,  although  so  well  known,  and  so 
early  printed  on  the  Continent,  it  does  not  seem  to  have 
been  set  up  in  type  in  this  country,  there  being  no  re- 
cord of  its  ever  having  engaged  the  attention  of  any  of 
our  early  printers.  That  it  was  .known  in  MS.  is 
evidenced  from  the  beautiful  copy  whence  I  draw  my 
text,  whenever  quoted,  but  the  only  version  that  has 
been  printed,  was  published  by  the  Early  English  Text 
Society  in  1866:  "The  Romans  of  Partenay  or  of 
Lusignen  :  otherwise  known  as  the  tale  of  Melusine  : 
Translated  from  the  French  of  La  Coudrette  (about 
1500-1520  A.D.)  Edited  from  a  unique  manuscript  in 


RAYMONDIN    IS   LEFT  WITH   HIS   UNCLE.  [Seep.   13 


ME  LU SINE.  9 

the  library  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  with  an 
Introduction,  Notes,  and  Glossarial  Index,  by  the  Rev. 
Walter  W.  Skeat,  M.A.,  &c." 

This,  to  the  scholar,  is  a  charming  book ;  but  it  is 
"  caviar  to  the  general."  It  is  in  verse,  and  the  language 
is  very  archaic ;  besides  which,  being  a  transcript  of  the 
whole  MS.,  the  stories  of  Melusine,  King  Helmas, 
Geoffry  of  the  Great  Tooth,  and  his  brothers,  the 
Lady  of  the  Sparrow-hawk,  and  Palestine's  Treasure, 
are,  as  in  all  the  versions  of  Melusine,  very  involved. 
Add  to  this  that  it  was  published  by  a  learned  Society, 
which,  although  doing  a  wonderfully  good  work  in 
behalf  of  English  literature,  is  not  as  well  known  as  it 
deserves  to  be  by  the  general  public,  and,  rightly 
following  out  its  raison  d'etre,  published  it  for  the 
benefit  of  its  members  and  the  scholarly  public,  without 
reference  to  the  great  mass  of  readers.  That  it  has  not 
been  more  popular,  is  somewhat  astonishing,  seeing  that 
it  has  been  translated  from  the  French  into  German, 
Spanish,  Danish,  and  Russ — probably  into  other  languages. 

At  first  sight  it  would  seem  that  this  Romance  was 
indebted  to  England  for  its  very  inception,  but  Jean 
d'Arras,  who  says  he  tells  the  truth  as  far  as  he  possibly 
can,  says,  "  Hystory  recounteth  to  us  that  there  was 
som  tyme  in  the  Brut r  Brytayn  a  noble  man  whiche 

1  The  legend  runs  that  Brute,  a  descendant  of  ^Eneas,  after  the  siege  of 
Troy,  came  over  to  England  and  founded  London,  then  called  Troy  novant, 
or  Tre  nevant ;  but  in  this  Romance,  Brittany  is  evidently  meant. 


io  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

fell  at  debate  with  the  nevew  of  the  King  of  Bretons, 
and  in  dede  he  durst  therfore  no  more  dwelle  within 
the  land,  but  toke  with  hym  al  his  fynance  &  goods  and 
went  out  of  the  land  by  the  high  mountaynes.  And 
as  telleth  thistorye  he  founde  on  a  day  nighe  by  a 
fontayn  a  fayre  lady  to  whom  he  told  al  his  ffortune  & 
adventure/  so  that  fynally  they  enamoured  eche  other, 
and  the  lady  shewed  to  hym  grett  love  &  dede  unto 
hym  moch  comfort,  and  he  began  within  her  land  that 
was  wast  &  deserte  for  to  bylde  &  make  fayre  tounes 
and  strong  castels.  and  was  the  land  within  short  tyme 
peupled  raisonably/  and  they  dide  calle  the  land  forestz 
by  cause  that  they  founde  it  full  of  grett  wods  and 
thikk  bushes.  And  yet  at  this  day  it  is  called  fforestz. 
It  haped  that  this  Knight  and  this  lady  fel  at  debate 
togedre.  I  ne  wot  not  goodly  how  ne  wherfore  /  but 
that  right  sodaynly  departed  the  lady  fro  the  Knight 
wherfore  he  was  woful  &  hevy.  and  notwythstandinge 
he  grew  &  increased  in  worth(y)n(es)s  and  in  prosperite. 
The  noble  men  thanne  of  this  land  /  seeyng  that  they 
were  without  a  lady  purveyed  hym  of  oon  to  hys  wyf 
a  moche  gentil  &  fayre  woman  suster  to  the  Erie  of 
Poiters  which  regned  at  that  tyme,  &  he  begat  on  her 
many  children  males,  among  the  whiche  was  oon  that 
is  to  wete  the  iijde  borne  which  was  named  Raymondyn 
and  was  fayre  goodly  &  gracyous,  moche  subtyl  &  wyty 
in  all  thinges.  And  that  same  tyme  the  said  Raymondin 
might  be  xiiij  yere  of  age." 


THE   EARL  DISCOURSES  OF  ASTRONOMY.  \_ScCp.   14. 


ME  LU SINE.  13 

His  uncle,  the  Earl  of  Poitiers,  had  but  one  son, 
Bertrand,  and,  when  he  was  to  be  dubbed  knight,  the 
Earl  made  a  great  feast ;  he  invited  the  Earl  of  Forest, 
who  was  not  rich  for  his  position,  and,  moreover,  had 
many  sons,  to  feast  with  him.  The  invitation  was 
accepted,  and  he  took  with  him  three  of  his  boys.  It 
was  a  great  feast,  and  many  a  knight  was  there  dubbed, 
including  the  eldest  son  of  the  Earl  of  Forest,  "ffor  he 
jousted  moche  wel  &  fayre."  Seven  mortal  days  did 
this  feast  continue,  and  when  it  came  to  an  end,  and 
the  guests  were  departing,  the  Earl  of  Poitiers  begged 
his  brother-in-law  to  leave  Raymondin  with  him,  pro- 
mising that  he  would  provide  for  his  future  life.  The 
Earl  of  Forest  consented,  and  Raymondin  was  accordingly 
left  with  his  uncle ;  and  his  father,  with  his  two  brothers, 
went  home. 

The  Earl  of  Poitiers,  whose  name  was  Emery,  was 
learned  above  his  peers ;  "  he  conde r  many  a  science, 
and  specially  he  was  parfytte  in  the  science  of  Astro- 
nomy ; "  but  also,  like  every  knight  and  country  gentle- 
man, he  dearly  loved  his  hound  and  hawk,  of  both  of 
which  he  had  many.  One  day  a  forester  brought  word 
that  in  the  forest  of  Colombiers  "  was  the  moost  mer- 
vayllous  wild  bore  that  had  be  sene  of  long  tyme  byfore, 
and  that  at  hym  shuld  be  the  best  &  fayrest  dysport 
that  eny  gentylman  shuld  ever  have." 

1  Knew. 


14  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

So  the  Earl,  "  with  grette  foyson *  of  barons  and 
knightes,"  set  out  to  chase  this  prodigy,  Raymondin 
riding  with  him  as  his  esquire,  and  they  duly  found 
the  wild  boar,  which  "was  fel  and  proude,  &  devoured 
&  kyld  many  houndes,  and  toke  his  cours  thrugh  the 
fforest,  ffor  he  was  strongly  chaffed,2  and  they  byganne 
for  to  folowe  hym  waloping3  a  good  paas."  But  in 
spite  of  all  their  "  waloping "  the  boar  took  such  a  line 
of  country  that  none  of  the  field,  save  the  Earl  and 
Raymondin,  cared  about  following  him.  Once  Ray- 
mondin brought  the  boar  to  bay  and  attacked  him,  but 
the  boar  charged,  and,  sad  to  say  about  a  hero  of 
romance,  knocked  Raymondin  backwards  and  then  fled. 
Of  course  Raymondin  remounted  and  followed  him,  and 
the  Earl,  fearful  that  the  young  man  might  come  to 
grief,  spurred  after  him,  and,  to  his  great  joy,  caught 
him  up. 

By  this  time  their  horses  were  somewhat  tired,  and 
they  rested  under  a  tree  until  nightfall,  when  the  Earl 
immediately  mounted  his  hobby  of  astronomy,  and  dis- 
coursed most  learnedly  on  that  science  to  his  nephew, 
until  he  noticed  such  astral  conjunctions  that  he  began 
to  weep  full  sorely ;  and,  on  Raymondin  questioning  him, 
he  told  him  that  there  would  happen  to  them  a  great 
adventure,  and  that  he  foresaw  by  the  stars  that,  if  a 
subject  should  slay  his  lord,  he  should  become  the 

1  Company.  2  Very  angry.  3  Galloping. 


RAYMONDIN   BY   MISCHANCE   KILLS   HIS    UNCLE.  [Seep.  lj- 


ME  LU SINE.  17 

most  powerful  nobleman  in  the  land,  and  from  him 
should  spring  such  a  noble  lineage  that  it  should  be  in 
memory  and  remembrance  until  the  end  of  the  world. 
He  further  went  on  to  say  that  he,  Earl  Emery,  was 
now  old,  and  he  so  loved  Raymondin  that  he  hoped 
the  prognostications  of  the  heavens  might  be  fulfilled 
in  their  proper  persons. 

There  were  more  tears  on  the  part  of  the  Earl  and 
deprecatory  protests  from  Raymondin,  when  they  heard 
a  fearful  noise,  which  they  found  proceeded  from  a 
wonderfully  great  and  horrible  boar  that  was  coming 
straight  towards  them.  Raymondin  wished  the  Earl  to 
climb  some  tree,  but  the  old  nobleman  would  not  forsake 
his  young  kinsman,  the  consequence  of  which  was  that 
the  boar  left  Raymondin  and  charged  the  Earl  suddenly ; 
who,  seeing  the  enraged  animal  approach,  dropped  his 
sword,  and,  taking  a  short  spear  and  running  towards 
the  boar,  bracked^  or  spitted,  the  brute  through  the  breast, 
although  the  shock  brought  him  to  his  knees.  Raymondin 
at  this  time  came  up,  and,  finding  the  boar  lying  on  his 
back,  smote  him  such  a  blow  that  his  sword  broke,  and, 
part  of  the  blade  springing  backward,  pierced  the  Earl's 
breast  and  killed  him.  The  unconscious  Raymondin, 
vexed  at  the  snapping  of  his  sword  blade,  "toke  the 
spere,  and  so  strongly  broched  it  thrughe  the  bore  that 
he  slew  hym." 

Then,  and  not  till  then,  he  saw  the  cruel  mishap  that 

3 


1 8  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

had  befallen  his  uncle.  "  He  went,  and  wold  have  had 
hym  to  stand  upon  his  feet,  but  it  was  for  nought,  he 
thenne  pulled  out  of  hys  brest  the  piece  of  the  swerde 
and  knew  that  it  was  hys  dede.  Moche  mervayllously 
thanne  byganne  Raymondin  to  sighe  &  to  complayne, 
&  wept  and  lamented  piteously,  saying  in  this  maner, 
Ha,  ha,  false  fortune,  how  moche  art  thow  perverse  and 
evyll  that  hath  doon  z  to  be  slayn  by  me  hym  that  loved 
me  so  moche,  and  that  had  doon  to  me  so  moche  good. 
Ha,  God  Fader  Almighty,  where  shal  now  be  the  lande 
where  this  harde  2  and  false  synner  shal  now  abyde,  ffor 
in  certayn  all  they  that  shall  here  spek  of  this  grett 
mysdede  shall  juge  me,  and  with  good  right,  to  dey3 
of  a  shamfull  deth,  ffor  a  more  false  ne  more  evyl  treson 
dide  never  no  sinnes.  Ha,  erthe,  cleve4  and  open  the, 
&  devoure  tho\i  me  fourthwith  and  lete  me  fall  with  the 
moost  obscure  &  derke  angel  within  helle  yl  sometime  5 
was  the  fayrest  of  all  other  in  heven,  ffor  wel  I  have 
deserved  it." 

For  a  long  time  Raymondin  thus  mourned,  calling  to 
mind  the  Earl's  astronomical  prediction,  how  that,  if  a 
subject  should  then  slay  his  lord,  he  should  arrive  to 
high  estate,  and  establish  a  famous  line  of  descendants. 
In  this,  however,  he  could  find  no  comfort,  but,  bewailing 
his  sad  fate,  he  only  thought  of  fleeing  from  the  possible 
consequences  of  his  mishap,  and  going  to  some  land 

1  Caused.      2  Hardy.      3  Die.       4  Cleave  or  rend  asunder.      s  That  formerly. 


RAYMONDIN  S    FIRST   MEETING    WITH    MELUSINE.  \Seep.  21. 


ME  LU SINE.  21 

where  he  might  do  penance  for  his  unconscious  sin. 
So  he  knelt  down  and  fondly  kissed  his  dead  uncle, 
"  and  soone  after  that  he  had  kyssed  hym,  he  layd  hys 
foot  in  the  sterop  and  leped  upon  hys  hors,  and  departed, 
holding  his  way  through  the  myddel  of  the  fforest  moche 
dyscomforted,  &  rode  apas,1  unknowing  the  way,  ne2 
whether  he  went,  by  only  by  hap  &  att  aventure.  And 
made  such  a  sorrow  that  there  was  no  personne  in  the 
worlde  that  could  think  ne  say  the  Vth  part  of  hys 
doulour." 

"  Raymondin  was  thus  pensefull 3  and  hevy  of  herte  of 
the  myshap  that  was  come  to  hym,  that  he  ne  wyst 
where  he  was,  ne  whither  he  went,  ne  in  no  manere  he 
ledd  hys  hors,  but  hys  hors  ledd  hym  where  that  he  wold, 
ffor  Raymondin  touched  not  the  brydell,  and  herd  ne 
saw  nought,  so  sore  was  hys  wit  troubled." 

It  was  now  midnight  and  bright  moonlight,  and,  in 
his  abstracted  state,  he  rode  along  until  he  came  to  a  fairy 
fountain,  called  the  "fontayne  of  Soyf,"  or  "Thirsty 
Gladness,"  beautifully  situated,  in  a  magnificent  country — 
and,  by  this  fountain,  three  fair  damsels  were  disporting, 
no  others  than  Melusine  and  her  two  sisters,  Melior  and 
Palestine — and  of  these  three,  Melusine  was  evidently  the 
chief. 

Raymondin  saw  them  not,  but  his  horse  did,  and  fled 
from  them  in  a  fright. 

1  Apace — quickly.  2  Nor.  3  Pensive — full  of  thought. 


22  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Then  Melusine  addressed  her  sisters,  and  remarked 
upon  the  incivility  of  the  rider,  who  never  even  made 
obeisance,  or  saluted  them,  as  was  only  ordinary  in  the 
days  of  chivalry.  "  By  my  feyth,  he  that  rode  now  and 
passed  before  us  semyth  to  be  a  moche  gentylman,  and 
nevertheles  he  maketh  of  it  no  semblance,  but  he  sheweth 
the  semblaunt x  of  a  vylayne  or  kerle 2  that  hath  passed 
so  before  ladyes  without  to  have  salewed  3  them.  I  goo 
to  make  hym  spek,  fifor  he  semeth  to  be  a  sleep." 

So  saying,  she  left  her  sisters,  and  went  after  Ray- 
mondin,  and,  having  caught  his  horse  by  the  bridle,  she 
made  him  stand  still,  and  began  to  upbraid  the  esquire 
for  his  uncouth  behaviour,  but  he  heard  her  not,  nor 
answered  her.  "  And  she  as  angry  and  wroth,  sayd  ones 
agen  to  hym,  And  how,  sire  musarde,4  are  ye  so  dyspy- 
toned  5  that  ye  dayne 6  not  answere  to  me.  And  yet  he 
answered  nere  7  a  word.  By  my  feyth  8  sayd  she  within 
herselfe,  I  byleve  non  other  but  that  this  yong  man 
slepeth  upon  his  hors,  or  ellis  he  is  eythir  dombe  or  def." 
So  she  pulled  his  hand  forcibly,  and  Raymondin,  waking 
up  with  a  start,  all  astonished,  drew  his  sword  impulsively, 
and  laid  about  him,  thinking  that  it  was  some  of  the  Earl's 
train  come  to  arrest  him ;  but  a  moment  or  two  brought 
him  to  his  senses,  especially  when  he  heard,  amidst 

1  Resemblance  ~  A  villein  or  ceorl — a  labourer  or  slave. 

3  Saluted.  4  Dreamer.  5  Dispositioned. 

6  Deign.  ^  Never.  8  Faith. 


RAYMONDIN   TAKES  LEAVE   OF  MELUSINE.  [Seep.  2p. 


ME  LU SINE.  25 

rippling  laughter,  "  Sire  vassal,  with  whom  will  you 
begynne  the  bataille  :  your  enemys  ben  not  here,  and 
knowe  you  fayre  sire  that  I  am  of  your  party  or  side." 

Raymondin  was  struck,  as  he  could  not  fail  to  be,  with 
the  exquisite  beauty  of  the  lady,  got  off  his  horse,  and 
knelt  before  her,  after  the  fashion  of  his  time.  He 
apologised  for  his  involuntary  abstraction,  and  pleaded 
that  he  was  full  of  thought — of  something  which  lay 
heavy  on  his  heart,  and  of  which  he  prayed  to  God  to 
relieve  him.  The  fair  damsel  at  once  changed  her  tone 
of  banter  to  one  of  seriousness,  and  put  a  trial  question 
to  him,  as  to  whither  he  was  going.  He  replied  that  he 
knew  not — he  had  lost  his  way.  She,  then,  seeing  he 
would  not  tell  his  secret,  sprung  her  mine  upon  him. 
Calling  him  by  name,  she  told  him  he  should  hide  nothing 
from  her,  for  she  knew  all  about  him. 

Raymondin  was  utterly  astonished  at  thus  hearing  him- 
self named  by  the  fair  stranger,  so  that  he  could  not 
answer  her,  and  she,  pursuing  the  advantage  she  had 
gained,  told  him  that,  after  God,  she  was  the  best 
counsellor  he  could  have ;  and,  to  prove  her  intimate 
knowledge  of  his  affairs,  she  told  him  how  that  he  had 
slain  his  lord  by  mishap,  and  even  related  the  conversation 
they  had  had  together  on  astronomy,  promising,  if  he 
would  but  obey  her  counsels,  he  should  come  to  no  harm, 
but  be  the  greatest  man  that  had  ever  been,  of  his  race,  as 
well  as  the  largest  landed  proprietor. 


26  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Raymondin  saw  that  this  beautiful  being  was  possessed 

of  almost  supernatural  powers,  but,  before  he  promised  he 

x^ ^^ 

would  obey  her  advice,  he  prudently  inserted  a  clause, 
"  and  it  be  that  a  cristen  man  may  or  ought  to  doo  with 
honour."  The  lady  replied  after  her  manner,  Ca  va  sans  dire, 
and  then  established  as  the  first  preliminary,  that  he 
should  promise  to  make  her  his  wife.  This  Raymondin 
at  once  agreed  to.  But  Melusine  had  another  condition 
contingent  upon  this,  and,  as  the  story  hinges  mainly 
upon  this,  it  is  but  fit  that  it  should  be  given  in  the  very 
words  of  the  MS.  "  Ye  must  promysse  to  me,  Ray- 
mondyn,  upon  all  the  sacrements  &  other  that  a  man  very 
Catholique  &  of  good  faith  may  do  and  swere,  that  never 
while  I  shall  be  in  your  company,  ye  shal  not  peyne  ne 
force  yourselfe  for  to  see  me  on  the  Saturday,  nor  by  no 
manere  ye  shall  not  enquyre  that  day  of  me  ne  the  place 
where  I  shall  be.  And  whan  she  had  thus  said  to  Ray- 
mondin, he  yet  ageyn  said  to  her  in  this  manere,  On 
the  parel  of  my  sowle  I  swere  to  you,  that  never  on  yt 
day  I  ne  shal  doo  nothing  that  may  hyndre  or  adommage1 
you  in  no  manere  of  wyse,  and  I,  said  she,  ne  shall  doo 
nor  thinke  to  none  other  thing  but  in  what  manere  I  shall 
mowe  best  encresse 2  in  worship  and  honour  both  you 
and  your  lynee.3  And  Raymondin  yede4  &  gan  sey  to 
her  in  this  manere,  Soo  shal  I  do  it  to  the  playsire  of 
God." 

1  Hurt.       -  More  best  or  better  increase.        3  Lineage,  or  family.       4  Went. 


RAYMONDIN   AND   MELUSINE  AT  THE  CHAPEL.  [See  p.  30. 


MELUSINE.  29 

Thus,  then,  Raymondin  and  Melusine  plighted  their 
troth,  and  she  at  once  commenced  carrying  out  her  portion 
of  the  agreement  by  giving  him  good  advice,  as  how  to 
act  with  regard  to  the  death  of  his  uncle.  She  told  him 
to  return  to  Poitiers,  and  he  was  to  reply  in  answer  to  all 
questions  put  to  him  regarding  the  Earl  his  uncle,  "  Is  he 
not  come  home  again  ? "  and  when  they  should  tell  him 
nay,  he  was  to  reply  that  he  never  saw  him  since  the 
chase  was  at  its  height,  at  which  time  he  lost  him  ;  and 
he  must  feign  to  be  more  surprised  at  his  uncle's  absence 
than  any  other.  She  foretold  that  soon  afterwards  the 
hunters  of  his  train,  and  others  of  his  following,  should 
appear,  bringing  the  corpse,  borne  upon  a  litter,  and  that 
his  wounds  should  seem  to  have  been  made  by  a  boar's 
teeth,  so  that  all  men  should  say  that  a  wild  boar  had 
slain  him,  and  people  should  reckon  it  as  a  great  deed  to 
the  Earl,  for  that  he  had  slain  so  ferocious  a  beast.  He 
was  to  go  to  the  funeral,  put  on  mourning  as  the  others 
did,  and  wait  until  it  was  the  time  for  the  barons  to  do 
obeisance  to  their  new  Earl,  Bertrand,  when  he  was  to 
return  to  the  fountain  of  Soyf,  there  to  find  Melusine. 
But,  before  his  final  adieu,  she  gave  him  two  rings,  one  of 
which,  as  long  as  he  wore  it,  would  keep  him  harmless 
from  the  stroke  of  any  weapon,  and  the  other  would  give 
him  victory  over  his  enemies. 

"Thanne    toke    Raymondin    leve    of    the    lady,    and 
embrased    and    kyssed  her  swetly   and   moche   frendly," 


30  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

and  went  his  way,  whilst  Melusine  returned  to  her  sisters. 
On  his  arrival  at  Poitiers  everything  fell  out  as  predicted, 
and  when,  after  the  funeral,  the  barons  were  ordered  to 
come  and  do  obeisance  to  their  new  earl,  Raymondin 
dutifully  returned  to  his  fiancee,  but  only  to  find  great 
marvels  on  his  arrival  at  the  trysting-place. 

First  and  foremost,  on  his  coming  to  the  fountain  of 
Soyf,  he  perceived  a  chapel  which  he  had  never  seen 
before,  around  which  were  many  knights  and  ladies,  who 
welcomed  him  with  acclamations,  begged  him  to  alight, 
and  to  accompany  them  unto  their  lady,  who  was  awaiting 
him  in  her  pavilion.  As  he  went  towards  it,  Melusine 
came  to  meet  him,  and,  after  some  conversation,  dinner 
was  announced,  and  they  adjourned  to  the  pavilion  for 
that  important  meal  :  and  when  he  asked  whence  came 
all  this  retinue  ?  was  answered  that  they  were  all  at  his 
command. 

She  then  gave  him  the  following  counsel  :  Premising 
that  the  morrow  was  the  day  for  the  barons  to  do  homage 
to  Earl  Bertrand,  she  advised  that  he,  also,  should  present 
himself,  and  that  he  should  ask  a  boon  of  the  new  earl : 
one  not  likely  to  be  denied,  on  account  of  its  apparent 
modesty.  She  bade  him  ask,  as  a  return  of  services  done 
to  his  father,  neither  town,  nor  castle,  nor  anything  of 
great  value,  but  only  as  much  land  as  the  hide  of  a  stag 
wo'uld  comprehend.  Of  course  it  is  an  old  story,  told  of 
Dido,  as  of  others,  but  still  it  is  part  of  the  romance,  and 


RAYMOND] N   ASKS  A   BOON   OF   THE   EARL. 


{.Seep.  33. 


MELUSINE.  33 

resulted  in  making  our  hero,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
a  landed  proprietor.  He  was  to  ask  for  this  land  as  a  free 
gift,  entirely  disassociated  from  rent  or  homage,  and  he 
was  also  to  be  careful  that  this  grant  should  be  under  the 
Earl's  great  seal,  and  that  of  his  suzerain.  She  told  him, 
also,  that  after  this  interview,  the  issue  of  which  was 
undoubted,  he  should  meet  a  man  with  a  stag's  hide  in  a 
bag,  and  this  hide  he  was  to  buy,  without  haggling,  for 
whatever  price  the  man  chose  to  ask.  He  was  then  to 
cut  it  in  "  the  smallest  and  narowest  waye  that  is  possible 
to  be  cutte  after  the  maner  of  a  thonge,"  and  then,  this 
purchase  being  made,  and  the  grant  signed,  sealed,  and 
delivered,  he  was  to  go  with  proper  men  to  the  fountain 
of  Soyf,  where  he  would  find  the  trees  cut  down,  and  all 
ready  for  him  to  measure  the  ground — which,  when  staked 
out,  if  there  was  any  leather  over  after  the  circular 
measurement,  he  was  to  take  it  down  the  hill.  He  took 
an  affectionate  leave  of  his  lady  love,  and  rode  off  to 
Poitiers,  where  he  met  with  a  kindly  reception  from 
all. 

As  an  illustration  of  the  manners  of  the  time,  I  must 
needs  quote  a  line  or  two  from  the  MS.,  showing  the 
intimate  connection  between  the  secular  and  clerical 
power.  "  And  the  next  morow  they  yede *  all  togedre 
unto  Saynt  Hylary  of  Poyters  where  the  devyne  servyse 
was  doon  right  worshypfully.  And  atte  that  servyse  was 

1  Went. 

4 


34  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

the  yonge  Erie  revested  lyke  a  Canoyne  as  they  re  pry  mat 
or  Abbot,  and  dyde  hys  devoyre *  as  it  apparteyned, 
and  that  of  custome  was  for  to  be  doo." 

The  Barons  did  their  homage,  and,  when  it  came  to 
Raymondin's  turn,  he  preferred  his  request,  as  he  had 
been  instructed,  which  the  Earl  gladly  granted,  and  the 
next  day  he  took  his  leave,  when  he  met,  as  Melusine  had 
foretold,  a  man  who  asked  him,  "  Sire,  wyl  ye  bye  this 
hertis  skynne  that  I  have  within  my  sack  for  to  make 
good  huntyng  cordes  for  yor  hunters.  By  my  feyth  said 
Raymondin  /  ye  /  2  yf  thou  wilt  selle  it.  And  at  one  word 
what  shall  I  paye  for  hit.  By  my  feyth,  sire,  said  the 
man,  ye  shall  paye  to  me  for  it  ten  shelyngs  or  ellis  ye 
shall  not  have  it.  Ffrend  sayd  thanne  Raymondin  to 
the  said  man,  bryng  it  home  with  me  and  I  shall  pay 
the  there.  And  he  answered  with  a  good  wille.  Thanne 
he  folowed  Raymondin  unto  his  hous  and  there  he 
delyvered  hys  hyde,  and  Raymondin  payed  hym  for  it. 
And  anone  after,  Raymondin  sent  for  a  sadelmaker  to 
whom  he  said,  My  frend  yf  it  plese  you  ye  muste  cutte 
this  hyde  in  fourme  of  a  thonge  in  the  narowest  & 
smallest  wyse  that  is  possible  to  be  doo.  The  sadler  dide 
cutte  it,  and  after,  they  leyd  it  within  the  sac  thus 
cutte." 

On  arriving  at  the  Fountain  of  Soyf  he  found  the  trees 
all  levelled — at  least,  such  as  were  in  the  way  of  his 

1  Devoir — duty.  2  Yea,  or  yes. 


RAYMONDIN    MEASURES   HIS  LAND. 


MELUSINE.  37 

measuring  ;  at  which  he,  naturally,  marvelled  at  first ;  but 
in   this,  as   in  other   things,   Raymondin   seems   to   have 
speedily  recognized  the  guiding  hand  of  a  superior  genius, 
and  accepted  the  situation  as  he  found  it.     The  Romance 
omits  to  state  whether  there  was  a  commission  associated 
with  Raymondin  to  execute  the  Earl's  gift,  but  there  evi- 
dently was  something  of  the  sort,  although  it  is  somewhat 
indefinitely  described  as  "  they."     "  Whan  they  that  shuld 
dely  ver  the  gefte  x  saw  the  hyde  cutte  so  small  they  were 
of  it  alle  abashed,  and  said  to  Raymondin  that  they  wyst 
not  what  to  doo.     And  there  incontynent  came  to  them 
two  men  clothed  with  cours  cloth,  the  which  said  in  this 
manere.     We  are  come  hither  for  to  helpe  you.     Thanne 
they  toke  out  of  the  sack  the  hyde,  and  bare  it  unto  the 
bottom  of  the  valley,  as  nigh  the  roche2  as  they  coude, 
and  there  they  dide  sette  a  stake  in  the  erthe,  and  to  this 
stake  they  fasted  the  one  end  of  the  hyde,  and   as  they 
went   they  set  stakes  for  to  hold  with  the  said  thonge 
rounde  aboute  the  roche,  and  whan  they  were  come  ageyn 
to  the  first  stake  there  was  yet  a  grete  remenant  of  the  thong, 
and  for  to  sette  and  fournysshe  it,  they  drew  it  downward 
to  the  valey,  and  so  far  they  went  with  it  that  they  came 
to  the  ende  of  it.     And  ye  must  knowe  that  after  that,  it 
is  said  in  the  countre,  and  as  the  very  and  true  history 
witnesseth,  there  sprange  at  ende  of  the  said  thonge,  a  fayre 
fontayn,  the  which  rendred  so  moche  of  water,  that  a  ryvere 

1  Gift,  or  boon.  2  Rock. 


38  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

wexed  or  grew  therof.  Wherof  many  a  mylle  dyde  grynde 
corne,  and  yet  now  grynden.1  Thanne  they  that  were 
there  sent  for  to  delyvere  to  Raymondin  the  place  wei 
moche  abasshed,  as  wel  of  the  fontayne  that  they  see 
spryng  sodaynly  before  them  as  of  the  grete  compace  of 
the  ledder2  whiche  conteyned  wel  the  space  of  two  myll  3 
of  grounde." 

The  "  they,"  although  they  could  scarcely  understand 
the  matter,  faithfully  executed  their  commission,  and  gave 
possession  to  Raymondin  of  all  the  land  thus  acquired, 
although  their  astonishment  was  not  decreased  by  the 
sudden  disappearance  of  the  two  men  who  were  so 
opportunely  officious  with  their  help :  and,  after  thanking 
Earl  Bertrand  for  his  kind  gift,  and  acknowledging  that  it 
was  all  done  without  his  knowledge,  or  interference,  he 
set  out  to  rejoin  Melusine.  She,  having  thus  provided  an 
estate  for  her  lord,  naturally  wished  to  share  it  with  him, 
and  urged  their  immediate  espousal — only — quite  properly, 
and  most  womanlike — she  intended  her  wedding-day  to 
be  the  day  of  her  life,  and  that  her  marriage  should  be  no 
hole-and-corner  proceeding,  but  done  openly  and  honour- 
ably, in  the  face  of  day,  and  with  every  befitting  ceremony. 
Therefore  she  enjoined  Raymondin  to  return  to  the  Earl, 
and  invite  him,  and  his  mother,  to  the  wedding,  and, 
meantime,  she  would  make  all  the  necessary  arrangements 
for  the  festival.  She  was  worldly  wise  enough  to  instruct 

1  And  still  do  grind.  2  Leather.  3  Miles. 


MARRIAGE  OF  RAYMONDIN  AND  MELUSINE.  {Seep.  43. 


ME  LU SINE.  41 

him  that  he  might  tell  the  Earl  that  he  was  going  to  wed 
a  king's  daughter,  but  more  than  that  he  was  not  to  say  : 
indeed  it  is  difficult  to  imagine  how  he  could,  seeing  that 
he  did  not  know  himself. 

The  Earl  spoke  to  Raymondin  as  to  the  mystery  that 
shrouded  his  wife,  but  the  lover  was  staunch,  and  per- 
tinently replied,  "  My  lord,  sith  it  sufTyseth  me  as  thereof 
ye  oughte  wel  to  be  playsed,  ffor  I  take  no  wyf  that  shall 
brawle  or  stryve  with  you,  but  only  with  me,  and  I  alone 
shall  bere  eyther  joye  or  sorowe  for  it."  This  argument 
was  unanswerable,  and  the  Earl  promised  to  attend  the 
marriage  ceremony,  and  bring  with  him,  not  only  his 
mother,  but  a  "  foyson  "  of  barons,  and,  besides  his  lady, 
"many  other  ladyes  and  damoyselles." 

"  On  the  morowe  erly  the  Erie  aroos  &  herd  his  masse, 
and  made  the  barons  to  be  manded  &  boden  *  for  to  goo 
with  hym  to  the  weddynge  of  Raymondin,  and  they  cam 
incontinent." 

When  they  did  arrive  they  were  all  amazed  at  the 
magnificence  of  the  preparations,  for,  on  their  way,  an 
old  knight  and  twenty-four  horsemen  met,  and  afterwards 
escorted  them.  Then  Raymondin  and  the  Earl  of  Forest 
joined  the  cortege,  and  they  rode  merrily  to  their  des- 
tination, where  "the  Erie  was  lodged  within  the  moost 
riche  lodgyn  that  ever  he  had  seen  before.  After  (wards) 
evry  man  was  lodged  honourably  after  his  estate,  & 

1  Warned  and  bidden. 


42  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

they  said  that  within  theyre  owne  places  at  whom  J  the] 
were  not  so  wel  lodged.     Theire  horses  were  lodged  withii 
the    grett    tentes,  so    at  large  &  at  theire  ease  that  no 
palfrener 2  was  there  but  that  he  was  full  wel    playsed. 
And  alle    they  marvailled    fro  whens  so  moch    of   good 
and  such  plente  of  richesses  might  come  there  so  haboun- 
dauntly;"  and  well    they  might,  for  the  historian    Jean 
d'Arras  has  not  spared  his  imagination. 

No  touch  of  mine  shall  spoil  the  description  of  the 
wedding.  The  guests  arrived  just  in  time,  "and  whan 
the  countesse  had  rested  a  lytel  while,  and  that  she  was 
arayed  with  her  ryche  rayments,  also  her  doughter 
Blanche,  Knyghtes  &  Esquyers,  ladyes  and  damoyselles 
of  her  companye,  wente  into  the  chambre  of  the  spouse, 
the  whiche  chambre  was  fayrer,  and  passed3  of  ryches 
alle  the  other  chambres,  but  whan  they  sawe  Melusyne 
&  perceyved  her  ryche  tyres,4  her  riche  gowne  alle  set 
wl  precious  stones  &  perlys  ;  the  coler  that  she  had  about 
her  nek,  her  gerdell,  &  her  other  rayments  that  she  had 
on  her,  they  alle  marvaylled  gretly,  and  specially  the 
Countesse  that  sayd  consideryng  that  grete  estate, 
Never  had  I  wened  5  ne  supposed  that  no  queene  ne 
Emperesse  had  be  in  alle  the  world  that  might  have 
founde  suche  jewellis  so  riche  &  so  grete  in  value.  .  .  . 
The  Erie  of  Poitiers  and  one  of  the  moost  hygh  barons, 
that  is  to  wete  the  Erie  of  fforest,  addressed  &  ledde  the 

rHome.       2  Groom.        3  Surpassed.       4  Attire,  or  dress.       5  Ween,  or  fancy. 


MELUSINE.  43 

spouse  unto  the  said  chapel le  of  our  lady  which  was  so 
rychly  adorned  &  arayed  so  nobly  that  wonder  it  was 
to  see,  as  of  parements,1  and  ornaments  of  cloth  of  gold 
purfeld 2  &  set  wl  perlys  and  precious  stones  so  wel 
wrought,  and  so  connyngly  browded  3  that  marvaylle  it 
was  to  loke  on.  Fayre  ymages  straungely  kerved,4  as 
of  crucifixe  &  figure  of  or  lady  all  of  pure  &  fyn  gold, 
and  bokes  were  there  so  wel  writen,  and  so  riche  that 
make  the  world :  5  rycher  bokes  might  not  have  be. 
And  there  was  a  bysshop  that  wedded  them  &  songe 
masse  before  them." 

The  marriage  ceremony  over,  the  bride,  bridegroom, 
and  guests,  all  adjourned  to  the  pavilions,  where  a  dinner 
was  served,  which,  of  course,  was  a  marvel  of  cookery. 
All  were  served  on  plates  of  gold,  and,  as  fast  as  one 
course  was  finished  and  removed,  another  was  ready  to 
take  its  place.  The  dinner  came  to  an  end  at  last,  "  the 
tables  were  taken  up  &  graces  said,  and  they  were  served 
with  ypocras  &  spyces,"  the  knights  and  esquires  donned 
their  armour,  and  went  into  the  tilting  ring,  where  a 
scaffold  was  erected  for  Melusine  and  the  ladies.  Of 
course,  in  the  tourney  Raymondin  was  the  victorious 
hero,  overthrowing  all  comers;  and  night  brought  this 
disport  to  an  end. 

The  close  of  the  evening  is  such  a  revelation  of  I5th 

1  Furniture.  2  Trimmed,  or  edged.  3  Embroidered. 

4  Carved.  5  As  rich  as  could  be  made  in  the  whole  world. 


44  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

century  manners,  that  it  can  only  be  told  to  the  best 
advantage  in  the  very  words  of  the  chroniclers.  "  And 
thanne  they  yede1  into  the  grete  tente,  and  after  they 
had  washen,  they  set  them  at  table  and  wel  &  richely 
they  were  served,  and  after  souper  were  the  tables  taken 
up,  and  they  wesshed  theyre  hands,  &  graces  were  said. 
This  doon  the  ladyes  wente  asyde  pryvely  and  toke 
other  gownes  on  them  and  cam  agayn  for  to  daunse. 
The  feste  was  fayre,  and  the  worship  was  there  grete,  so 
that  the  Erie  and  all  they  that  were  come  with  hym 
marvaylled  gretly  of  the  grette  ryches  &  honour  that 
they  sawe  there.  And  whan  it  was  tyme  they  ledd  the 
spouse  to  bed  most  honourably  within  a  wonder  (fully) 
marvayllous  &  riche  pavyllon.  And  there  the  Erles  of 
Poitiers  &  of  fforest  betoke  her  unto  the  ladye's  handes. 
And  than  the  Countess  of  Poitiers  and  other  grete  ladyes 
had  the  spouse  to  bed,  and  did  endoctryne  her  in  suche 
thynges  that  she  oughte  for  to  doo,  howbeit  that  she 
was  ynough  purveyed  thereof;  but  not  wythstandyng  she 
thanked  them  moch  humbly  therfore.  And  whan  she 
was  abed  the  ladyes  abode  thereunto  tyme  that  Ray- 
mondin  came  in." 

The  gentlemen  had  not  the  solace  of  the  smoking- 
room,  but  sat  chatting  over  the  jousting  of  the  day, 
until  the  arrival  of  a  knight  with  a  message  from  the 
ladies  that  it  was  time  for  Raymondin  to  join  his  bride. 

1  Went. 


BLESSING  THE   NUPTIAL   BED. 


[Seep.  47- 


MEL  U SINE.  47 

"  At  this  word  they  went  and  ledde  Raymondin  to  the 
pavyllon  and  soone  he  was  brought  to  bed.  And  thanne 
cam  there  ye  Bysshop  that  had  spoused  them  and  did 
halowe  theyre  bed,  and,  after  that,  everychon  toke  his 
leve,  and  the  courteyns  were  drawen  aboute  the  bed." 

Next  morning  they  all  heard  mass,  "  the  offertory  of 
whiche  was  grete  and  riche,"  and,  after  more  feasting, 
the  company  took  their  departure,  Melusine  accom- 
panying the  Countess  of  Poitiers  beyond  the  little  town 
of  Columbiers,  and,  at  parting,  presenting  her  with  "a 
fayre  &  most  riche  owche  J  of  gold,  in  value  unestimable, 
and  to  Blanche  her  doughter  a  gerland  all  set  with  perlys, 
with  saphirs,  rubyes,  and  with  many  other  precyous  stones 
in  grete  nombre.  And  alle  they  that  sawe  the  said  owche 
and  gerland  marvaylled  gretly  of  the  beaute,  goodnes  & 
value  of  it." 

Although  the  most  noble  of  the  guests  had  departed, 
still  plenty  more  took  their  places,  and  the  feasting  went 
on  right  merrily.  At  length  the  festivity  came  to  an  end, 
and  the  young  married  couple  were  left  to  themselves. 
Melusine,  who  took  upon  herself  the  ordering  of  every- 
thing, and,  from  a  business  point  of  view,  seems  to  have 
regarded  Raymondin  as  simply  a  sleeping  partner,  im- 
mediately set  to  work  to  build  a  castle  on  their  small 
estate,  and,  under  her  potent  influence,  it  rose  in  a 
marvellously  short  space  of  time.  "And  every  Saturday 

1  Brooch. 


48  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALR  K 

Melusyne  payed  truly  her  werkmen,  and  mete  and  drynke 
they  hadde  in  haboundance  ;  but  trouth  it  is,  that  no  body 
knew  from  whens  these  werkmen  were." 

The  castle  being  built,  of  course  there  was  a  house- 
warming — needless  to  say,  in  Melusine's  large-hearted  and 
open-handed  manner,  a  somewhat  extravagant  festival. 
The  Earls  of  Poitiers  and  Forest  were,  of  course,  present, 
and  jousting  and  feasting  fully  occupied  the  time  and 
attention  of  all.  Melusine  asked  them  kindly  to  name 
her  castle,  but  good  manners  forbade  it,  and  the  Earl  of 
Poitiers  politely  pointed  out  that  none  was  so  worthy  to 
christen  the  chateau  as  the  fair  chatelaine  and  founder. 
"  Ha,  ha,  my  lord,  said  Melusyne,  sith  it  ne  may  none 
otherwise  be,  and  that  I  see  your  playsire  is  that  I  gyve 
name  to  it,  hit  shal  be  called  after  myn  owne  name 
Lusignen.  By  my  feyth  sayd  the  Erie  the  name  fetteth 
full  wel  to  it  for  two  causes,  ffirst  bycause  ye  are  called 
Melusyne  of  Albanye,  whyche  name  in  grek  langage  is 
as  moche  for  to  say,  a  thyng  marvayllous  or  comyng  from 
grete  marveylle — and  also  this  place  is  bylded  and  made 
marvayllously,  ffor  I  beleve  not  otherwyse,  but  that  as 
longe  as  the  world  shal  laste  shall  there  be  founde  som 
wonder  &  marvayllous  thinge.  Thanne  they  alle  ansuered 
in  this  maner.  My  lord,  no  man  in  the  world  might  gyve 
betre  name  that  bettre  shuld  fette  to  it  than  she  hath,  as 
after  manere  of  the  place,  also  the  interpretyng  made  by 
you  of  her  owne  name,  and  on  this  oppynyon  &  worde 


MELUSINE.  49 

1  were  alle  of  one  acorde.  Whiche  name  within  few  days 
i  was  so  publyed  that  it  was  knowen  through  alle  the  land, 
and  yet  at  this  day  it  is  called  soo."  The  feast  came  to 
an  end,  and  the  guests  departed. 

The  next  important  event  in  the  life  of  Raymondin 
and  Melusine  was  the  birth  of  their  first-born  son,  Uryan, 
or  Urien.  She  was  unfortunate  in  her  progeny;  they  were 
all,  in  some  way  or  other,  malformed.  Urien  was  "  moche 
fayre  and  wel  proporcyoned  or  shapen  in  all  hys  membres, 
except  hys  vysage  that  was  short  and  large,  one  ey  he 
had  rede  and  the  other  blew.  He  was  baptysed  &  named 
Uryan,  and  wete  J  it  that  he  had  the  gretest  eerys 2  that 
ever  were  seen  on  eny  child  of  his  age,  and  when  they  were 
outdrawen  they  were  as  grete  as  the  handling  of  a  fan." 

Melusine  found  her  husband  some  employment  in 
visiting  his  relations  at  Brut,  Brittany,  and,  while  he  was 
away,  she  built  a  city  as  a  surprise  for  him  on  his  return. 
She  then  gave  birth  to  a  son,  who  was  christened  Edon, 
and  his  face  was  red.  She  then  built  the  towns  and 
castles  of  Melle,  Donant,  and  Mernant,  and  afterwards 
the  city  and  tower  of  St.  Maxence,  besides  commencing 
the  abbey  there. 

She  then  bore  a  third  son,  named  Guyon,  or  Guy,  but 
he  had  one  eye  higher  than  the  other ;  after  which  she 
amused  herself  with  building  the  town  and  castle  of 
Parthenay,  and  also  founded  the  port  and  city  of  Rochelle, 

1  Know.  2  Ears. 

5 


50  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

as  well  as  many  other  towns.  Her  fourth  child  was 
named  Anthony,  "  but  in  his  birth  he  brought  a  token 
along  hys  chyk  *  that  was  the  foot  of  a  lyon,  whereof 
they  that  sawe  hym  wondred,  &  moche  were  abasshed." 

In  the  seventh  year  of  her  married  life  she  bore  her 
fifth  boy,  who  was  named  Raynold  ;  but  his  defect  was 
that  he  only  had  one  eye,  but  that  must  have  been  of 
telescopic  power,  for  he  could  see  ships  as  far  out  at  sea 
as  one-and-twenty  leagues.  The  year  after  she  was 
brought  to  bed  of  a  son  who,  afterwards,  was  famous  in 
chronicle.  He  "  had  to  name  Geffray,  whiche  at  hys 
birth  brought  in  hys  mouthe  a  grete  &  long  toth 2  that 
apyered 3  without  an  ench  long  &  more,  &  therfore 
men  added  to  his  propre  name  Geffray  with  the  grete 
toth  ;  and  he  was  moch  grete  &  hye  &  wel  formed  & 
strong  marveyllously  hardy  &  cruel,  in  so  moche  that 
every  man  fered  &  dradde  hym  whan  he  was  in  (of)  age." 

The  year  following,  her  son  Fromond  was  born,  whose 
deformity  was  the  having  a  bunch  of  hair  on  his  nose.  He 
was  very  devout  and  turned  monk,  and  was  burnt,  with  all 
the  other  monks,  by  his  brother  Geoffrey  with  the  great 
tooth,  when  he  sacked  and  burnt  the  abbey  of  Maillieres. 
Her  next  maternal  effort  was  a  rank  failure,  for  this  son 
"  brought  at  hys  birth  thre  eyen,4  one  of  the  which  was 
in  the  mydel  of  his  forhed.  He  was  so  evyl  &  so  cruel 
that  at  the  foureth  yere  of  hys  age  he  slew  two  of  hys 

1  Cheek.  s  Tooth.  s  stuck  out.  4  Eyes. 


ME  LU SINE.  51 

nourryces."  His  name  was  very  properly  "  Horrible." 
She  also  had  two  younger  children,  Raymond  and 
Theodorik,  but  there  seems  to  have  been  very  little  the 
matter  with  their  personal  appearance. 

With  the  fortunes  of  these  children  we  have  nothing 
to  do,  except  inasmuch  as  they  come  in  contact  with 
the  story  of  their  father  and  mother  ;  who  seem  to  have 
lived  thoroughly  happy  and  prosperous  lives  until  such 
time  as  Raymondin's  brother,  the  Earl  of  Forest,  came 
one  day  to  pay  them  a  visit,  and  was  received  with  all 
the  courtesy  that  the  pair  could  show  him.  His  re- 
quital of  this  kindness  was  the  wrecking  of  their  love—and 
domestic  happiness.  He  arrived  on  a  Saturday,  the  day 
when  Melusine  was  "not  at  home,"  and  when  he  and 
i  Raymondin  were  going  to  dinner  he  asked  after  his 
sister-in-law,  marvelling  at  her  absence.  Raymondin, 
who  took  his  wife's  weekly  absence  as  a  matter  of  course, 
calmly  replied  that  she  was  not  then  visible,  but  next 
day  she  would  be  there  to  welcome  his  brother.  "  But 
for  that  ansuere  the  Erie  of  Fforest  held  not  hys  peas, 
but  thus  said  agen  to  hys  brother.  Ye  are  my  brother, 
I  owe1  not  to  hyde  to  you  your  dyshono1".  Now  fayre 
brother  wete  2  it  that  the  comyn  3  talking  of  the  peple  is 
that  Melusyne  yor  wyf  evry  Saturday  in  the  yere  is  with 
another  man  in  avoultyre,  &  so  blynd  ye  are  by  her 
sayeng,  that  ye  dare  not  enquere,  nor  knoweth  wher  she 

1  Ought.  2  Know.  3  Common. 


52  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

be  cometh  or  goeth ;  and  also,  others  sayen  &  make  them 
strong  that  she  is  a  spryghte  of  the  fayry  that  on  evry 
Saturday  maketh  her  penaunce.  I  wot  not  to  whiche  of 
bothe  I  shal  byleve,  and  for  none  other  cause  I  am  com 
hither  but  to  advertyse  r  you  therof." 

This  information,  given,  possibly,  with  every  good 
intention,  naturally  disturbed  Raymondin,  who  had 
hitherto  taken  his  wife's  hebdomadal  absences  with  per- 
fect calmness,  and  as  strictly  in  the  proper  nature  of 
things.  But  at  this  revelation,  that  his  wife's  conduct 
was  common  talk,  he  abruptly  rose  from  table  and  re- 
tired to  his  chamber,  where  he  became  the  prey  of 
terrible  jealousy.  After  some  self-communion,  like  a 
man  he  determined  to  know  the  worst  ;  he  "  toke  his 
swerd  &  girded  it  about  hym,  and  went  toward  the  place 
where  as  Melusyne  went  evry  Saturday  in  the  yer ;  and 
when  he  cam  there  he  fond  a  doore  of  yron  thikk  & 
strong,  and  wete  it  wel,  he  had  never  betofore  that  tyme 
so  ferre  thitherward  ;  and  whan  he  perceyved  the  doore 
of  yron,  he  toke  hys  swerd  that  was  hard  &  tempered  wl 
fyn  stele,  and  w1  the  poynte  of  it  dyde  so  moche  that  he 
perced  the  doore  and  made  a  holl  in  it,  and  loked  in  at 
that  holl,  and  sawe  there  Melusyne  that  was  within  a 
grete  bathe  of  marbel  stone,2  where  were  steppis  to 
mounte  in  it,  and  was  wel  XV  foot  of  length,  and  therein 
she  bathed  herself  makyng  there  her  penytence." 

1  Let  you  know.  2  See  Frontispiece. 


ME  LU SINE.  53 

It  was  then  he  made  the  discovery  of  the  awful  effects 
of  his  wife's  fairy  origin,  and  of  the  expiation  she  was 
doomed  to  undergo.  Doubtless  he  regretted  his  indiscreet 
curiosity,  especially  when  "  he  sawe  Melusyne  within  the 
bathe  unto  her  navell  in  forme  of  a  woman  kymbyng  her 
heere,  and  from  the  navel  downward  in  lyknes  of  a  grete 
serpent,  the  tayll  as  grete  &  thykk  as  a  barell  and  so  long 
it  was  that  she  made  it  to  touche  oftymes,  while  that 
Raymondin  beheld  her  the  rouf  of  the  chambre  that  was 
ryght  hye." 

The  manuscript  gives  some  long  and  very  doleful 
soliloquies  of  Raymondin,  who  went  home,  and  to  bed,  in 
a  state  of  mind  easier  to  be  imagined  than  described. 
With  the  first  flush  of  dawn  Melusine  returned,  as  was 
her  wont,  to  her  home,  and  the  description  of  the  meeting 
between  husband  and  wife  in  the  MS.  is  so  quaint  that 
the  story  would  suffer  much  were  it  not  told  in  its  very 
words.  "  Ere  sayth  thistorye  that  in  such  doler  & 
bewaylynge  abode  Raymondin  al  that  nyght  tyl  it  was 
day  lyght.  And  as  soone  as  aurora  might  be  perceyved, 
Melusyne  came  &  entred  in  to  the  chambre,  and  whan 
Raymondin  herd  her  com,  he  made  semblant z  of  slepe. 
She  toke  of  her  clothes  and  than  al  naked  layed  herself 
by  hym.  And  thenne  bygan  Raymondin  to  syghe,  as  that 
he  felt  grete  doleur2  at  herte,  and  Melusyne  embraced 
hym  &  asked  what  hym  eyled,3  sayeng  in  this  wyse. 

1  Feigned.  2  Grief.  3  Ailed— was  the  matter  with  him. 


54  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

My  lord  what  eyleth  you,  be  ye  syke.  And  whan  Ray- 
mondin  sawe  that  she  of  none  other  thing  spake,  he 
supposed  that  she  nothyng  had  knowen  of  this  faytte,1 
but  for  nought  he  byleved  so,2  ffor  she  wyst  wel  that 
he  had  not  shewn  the  matere  to  no  man,  wherfor  she 
suffred  at  that  tyme,  &  made  no  semblant  therof,  wher- 
fore  he  was  right  joyous  and  ansuered  to  her.  Madame 
I  have  be  (en)  somwhat  evyl  at  ease  &  have  had  an 
ager.3  My  lord  sayd  Melusyne  abasshe  you  not,  ffor  yf 
it  plese  God  ye  shal  soone  be  hole.  And  thenne  he  that 
was  right  joyous  said  to  her.  By  my  feyth,  swete  love, 
I  fele  me  wel  at  ease  for  your  comyng ;  and  she  said,  I 
am  therof  glad,  and  whan  tyme  requyred  they  roos,  and 
went  to  here  masse,  and  soone  after  was  the  dyner  redy." 
Thus,  for  the  moment,  no  harm  came  of  Raymondin's 
discovery,  and  the  pair  lived  in  loving  amity  until  an 
unusual  escapade  on  the  part  of  their  son  Geoffrey  with 
the  great  tooth  led  to  most  disastrous  effects.  It  arose 
in  this  wise :  His  brother  Fromond  had  a  liking  to  lead 
a  clean  and  godly  life,  and,  after  some  opposition  on  his 
father's  part,  he  entered  into  religious  life  as  a  monk  at 
the  abbey  of  Maillieres.  This,  the  warrior  Geoffrey 
looked  upon  as  a  degradation  to  his  family  and  lineage  ; 
none  of  them  ever  had  been  shavelings,  none  of  them 
ever  should  be,  or  he  would  know  the  reason  why  ;  so  he 
at  once  started  off  "  with  grete  yre  agenste  the  Abbot 

1  Fact.  a  He  knew  not  the  facts  of  the  case.  3  Ague. 


GEOFFREY  WITH   THE   GREAT   TOOTH   BURNING  THE  ABBEY   OF   MAILLIERES. 

[See  p.  58. 


MELUSINE.  57 

:  &  convent  of  Maylesses  ;  and  at  that  tyme  the  said  abbot 

|;&  his  monkes  were  in  chapitre,  and  Geffray  then  coming 

|tto  the  place,  entred  with  swerd    gird    about  hym  in  to 

rthe  chapitre.     And  whan  he  perceyved  the  abbot  &  hys 

monkes  he  said  al  on  hye  x  to  them.     Ye  false  monkes, 

how  have   ye   had  the  hardynes  to  have  enchanted  my 

brother   in  so  moche   that    thrughe   your   false  &  subtyl 

langage  have  shorne  hym  monke ;  by  the  teeth  of  God 

yl  ye  thought  it,  ffor  ye  shal  drynk  therfore  of  an  evyl 

drynk." 

"  Helas  my  lord,  said  th'abbot,  for  the  love  of  God 
ttiave  mercy  on  us  and  suffre  you  to  be  enfourmed  of  the 
•trouth  &  rayson,  for  on  my  Creator,  I  nor  none  of  us  all 
counseylled  hym  never  thereto.  Thenne  cam  Froymont 
foorth,  that  trowed  wel  to  have  peased  the  yre 2  of 
Geffray  hys  brother,  and  thus  said.  My  dere  brother, 
iby  the  body  &  sowle  which  I  have  gyven  to  god,  here 
;is  no  personne,  nor  within  this  place  that  ever  spake 
any  word  to  me  touching  my  profession,  ffor  I  have  it 
doon  of  myn  owne  free  wylle  &  thrugh  devocion.  By 
my  sowle,  said  Geffray,  so  shalt  thou  be  therfore  payed 
with  the  others,  for  it  shal  not  be  wytted  3  me  to  have 
a  brother  of  myn  a  monke,  and  with  these  words  he 
went  out  of  the  Chapter  and  shetted  the  doores  fast 
after  hym  &  closed  the  Abbot  &  the  monkes  therynne^ 

1  In  a  loud  tone  of  voice.         2  Believed  he  could  appease  the  wrath. 
3  I  will  not  be  twitted. 


58  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

and  incontinent  he  made  al  the  meyne *  of  the  place 
to  bryng  there  wode  &  strawe  ynough  al  about  the 
Chapter,  and  fyred  it,  &  sware  he  shuld  brene  them  all 
therynne,  &  that  none  shuld  escape.  Thenne  came  the 
ten  knyghtes  foorth  tofore 2  Geffray,  whiche  blamed  hym 
of  that  horryble  faytte,  sayeng  that  Froymond  his  brother 
was  in  good  purpos,  &  that  happly  throughe  hys  prayers 
&  good  dedes  the  sowles  of  hys  frendes  &  others  myght 
be  asswaged  &  holpen.  By  the  teeth  of  God,  sayd 
thenne  Geffray,  nother  he  nor  none  monke  in  this  place 
shal  never  syng  masse  nor  say  prayers  but  they  shal 
all  be  bruled  3  &  brent." 

His  ten  knights  left  him,  for  they  would  not  have  aught 
to  do  with  such  a  diabolical  scheme  ;  but  their  defection 
in  no  way  hindered  Geoffrey  from  his  design,  and  with 
his  own  hand  he  fired  the  abbey.  The  chronicler  says  : 
"  It  was  a  pyteous  syght,  ffor  as  soone  as  the  monkes 
sawe  the  fyre  they  bygan  to  crye  piteously  &  to  make 
bytter  &  doulourous  bewaylyngs,  but  al  that  prevaylled 
them  nought."  In  fine,  Fromond  and  all  the  monks  were 
burnt,  and  then  the  fiend  in  human  shape,  Geoffrey  with 
the  great  tooth,  began  to  feel  compunction,  and  to  re- 
pent him  as  far  as  his  evil  disposition  would  allow  ;  but 
the  mischief  was  done,  and  the  poor  monks  could  never 
be  restored  to  life. 

Ill   news   flies   apace ;    and    it  was    not   long   before   a 

1  Servants.          3  Towards.         3  Burnt,  from  the  French  briiler,  to  burn. 


MELUSINE.  59 

messenger  came  to  Raymondin  with  the  tidings  of  his 
son's  murder  of  his  inoffensive  brother.  He  refused  to 
believe  the  news,  but  on  the  messenger  offering  to  be 
put  in  prison  and  hanged,  if  it  were  not  true,  he  mounted 
his  horse  and  set  off  at  full  speed  for  Maillieres ;  nor  did 
he  draw  rein  until  he  came  there,  where  he  found  even 
as  the  messenger  had  said.  Turning  the  matter  over  in 
his  mind,  he  could  come  but  to  one  conclusion,  after  his 
discovery  of  his  wife's  peculiarity,  and  at  once  laid  the 
blame  on  her  shoulders.  "  I  byleve  it  is  but  fantosme  or 
spryght-werke  of  this  woman,  and  as  I  trowe,  she  never 
bare  no  child  that  shal  at  the  ende  have  perfection,  ffor 
yet  hath  she  brought  none  but  that  it  hath  som  strange 
token.  See  I  not  the  horrybyllnes  of  her  son  called 
horryble  that  passed  not  vij  yere  of  age  whan  he  slew 
two  squyers  of  myn,  and,  or  ever  he  was  thre  yere  old,  he 
made  dye  two  gentyl  women  his  nourryces  through  hys 
bytting  of  theyre  pappes.  Sawe  I  not  also  theyre  moder 
on  that  Saturday  whan  my  brother  of  Fforest  to  me 
brought  evyl  tydyngs  of  her,  in  fourme  of  a  serpent  from 
the  navel  downward  ;  by  god,  yea,  and  wel  I  wote  certayn 
that  it  is  som  spryght,  some  fantosme  or  Illusyon  that  thus 
hath  abused  me,  ffor  the  first  tyme  that  I  sawe  her,  she 
knew  &  coude  reherce  all  my  fortune  &  aventure." 

Pondering  in  this  wise,  "pensefull  &  wroth,"  he  rode 
homewards,  and  it  may  be  easily  imagined  that  his 
meeting  with  Melusine  was  not  of  a  loving  character. 


60  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

She  was  not  unprepared  for  it,  for  the  barons  had  sent 
a  messenger  to  her,  telling  her  of  all  that  had  passed, 
and  she  at  once  left,  with  all  her  retinue,  for  Lusignan, 
"and  there  she  sojourned  by  the  space  of  thre  dayes,  & 
ever  she  was  of  symple  &  hevy  contenaunce,  and  went  al 
about  in  the  place  up  &  doun,  here  &  there,  gyvyng 
ofte  syghes  so  grete  that  it  was  mervaylle  &  pyteous  to 
here."  And  this  grief,  the  chronicler  thinks,  was  not  only 
due  to  the  death  of  one  son,  and  the  outrageous  conduct 
of  the  other,  but  to  the  knowledge  ("  whiche  I  byleve  be 
trew  ")  of  her  own  impending  calamity. 

Their  meeting  was  painful  in  the  extreme.  On  her 
part  nothing  was-  omitted  to  welcome  her  lord.  The 
room  chosen  was  the  fairest  in  the  house,  looking  over 
the  pleasure  gardens  and  the  beautiful  prospect  which 
stretched  for  miles  round ;  and  she  herself  made  her 
appearance,  "accompanyed  of  many  ladyes  &  noble 
damoyselles,  &  of  the  barons  of  the  land.  .  .  .  Thenne 
whan  she  sawe  Raymondin,  humbly  &  ryght  honourably 
salued J  hym,  but  thenne  he  was  so  dolaunt 2  &  re- 
plenysshed  with  yre  that  he  to  her  ansuered  never  a 
word."  But  she,  caring  little  for  his  black  looks,  spoke 
to  him  very  sensibly  on  the  subject ;  blaming  Geoffrey's 
diabolical  behaviour,  but  reminding  her  husband  that  the 
past  could  not  be  undone,  and  the  best  thing  was  to  make 
reparation  for  the  sin  and  outrage  committed,  and  hope 

'    '  Saluted.  2  Doleful. 


THE   FAINTING  OF   MELUSINE. 


{Seep.  63. 


MELUSINE.  63 

that  Geoffrey  might  so  amend  his  life  as  to  be  a  shining 
example  of  all  the  virtues  in  the  future. 

Raymondin,  although  in  his  heart  he  could  not  but  confess 
the  justice  of  her  reasoning,  was  so  "replenysshed  and  perced 
with  yre,  that  al  rayson  natural  was  fled  &  goon  from  hym," 
and  he  at  once  began  a  violent  abuse  of  his  devoted  wife, 
commencing  with  "Go  thou  hens,  fals  serpente,"  and  saying 
that  she  and  all  her  children,  save  Fromond,  were  of  the 
devil.  Either  the  violence  of  this  public  attack,  or  the  fact 
of  her  secret  being  thus  divulged,  had  such  an  effect  upon 
Melusine,  that  she  fell  to  the  ground  in  a  swoon,  so  deathly, 
that  for  half  an  hour  she  did  not  breathe,  and  was  pulseless. 
Cold  water  vigorously  applied,  and  other  remedies,  at  length 
brought  her  round,  and  restored  her  to  her  senses,  when 
she  gently  upbraided  her  husband  with  the  revelation  of 
her  dual  existence,  which  had  so  abruptly  put  an  end  to 
the  fond  dream  of  her  life,  that  she  might  have  lived  the 
allotted  time  of  mortal  existence,  and  then  have  been 
buried  in  the  Church  of  Our  Lady  of  Lusignan,  whereas 
now  she  would  have  to  resume  her  fairy  shape  of  half 
serpent,  half  woman,  and  linger  about  in  that  guise  until 
the  day  of  judgment.  The  thoughts  of  this  dreadful  fate 
had  such  an  effect  upon  the  pair  that  they  both  fainted, 
and  then  wept  and  bewailed  both  barons  and  damoiselles, 
"  and  they  al  lamented  and  bewaylled  so  pyteously  & 
rendered  teerys  in  habundance,  in  so  moche  that  it  was  a 
pyteous  syght." 


64  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

When  they  came  to  life  again,  Melusine  spoke  as  to  her 
testamentary  wishes  in  a  somewhat  prophetic  strain.  She 
told  Raymondin  that  during  his  lifetime  he  should  hold  all 
his  possessions  in  peace,  because  she  would  watch  over  him, 
but  that  his  heirs  would  have  trouble  to  maintain  them  in  the 
time  to  come.  That  he  must  not  banish  Geoffrey,  for  that 
he  would  become  a  good  and  useful  member  of  society. 
She  desired  that  of  her  two  youngest  children,  Raymond 
and  Theodorik,  the  former  should  be  Earl  of  Forest,  and 
the  younger  Lord  of  Parthenay,  Vernon,  and  Rochelle,  with 
the  port  there.  All  the  others  were  quite  able  to  take  care 
of  themselves,  except  the  awful  child  "  Horrible,"  who,  she 
said,  would,  if  allowed  to  live,  commit  more  wickedness 
than  any  other  man  ;  therefore  she  desired,  after  she  was 
gone,  that  he  should  be  put  to  death — a  suggestion  that  was 
duly  attended  to,  and  he  was  comfortably  stifled  with  smoke 
from  wet  hay,  and  then  honourably  buried.  She  regretted 
having  to  quit  her  human  form,  and  all  that  made  life  dear 
to  her,  but  was  somewhat  comforted  by  the  fact  that  she 
should  still  be  able  to  see  her  husband,  although  he  might 
not  be  able  to  behold  her.  She  gave  her  husband  two  rings, 
which  seem  to  have  been  identical  with  those  she  bestowed 
on  him  in  the  time  of  their  courtship  ;  told  him  that  she 
was  the  daughter  of  King  Elynas  of  Albany  and  of  his 
queen  Pressyne,  recapitulated  her  testamentary  wishes, 
and,  having  heaved  "  a  sore  syghe,"  she  flew  out  of  the 
window  into  the  air,  "  transfigured  lyke  a  serpent  grete  & 
long  in  XV  foote  of  lengthe. 


r 

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^^> 

y/ 

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/     x^      ^ 


THE   FLIGHT  OF  MELUSINE. 


MELUSINE.  67 

"And  wete  it  wel  that  on  the  basse1  stone  of  the  wyndowe 
apereth  at  this  day  th'  emprynte  of  her  foot  serpentous.2 
Then  encreased  the  lamentable  sorovves  of  Raymondin,  and 
of  the  barons,  ladyes,  and  damoyselles,  and  moost  in 
especial  Raymondin's  hevynes  above  al  other.  And  forth- 
with they  loked  out  of  the  wyndowe  to  beholde  what  way 
she  toke.  And  ye  noble  Melusyne  so  transfygured  as  it  is 
aforsaid  flyeing  thre  tymes  about  the  place  passed  foreby 
the  wyndowe  gyvyng  at  everyche  tyme  an  horryble  cry 
&  pyteous  that  caused  them  that  beheld  her  to  wepe  for 
pyte,  ffor  they  perceyved  wel  that  loth  she  was  to  departe 
fro  the  place,  and  that  it  was  by  constraynte.  And  thenne 
she  toke  her  way  toward  Lusynen,  makyng  in  th'ayre  by 
her  furyousnes  suche  horryble  crye  &  noyse  that  it  semed 
al  th'ayer  to  be  replete  with  thundre  &  tempeste. 

"  Thus  as  I  have  shewed  went  Melusyne  lyke  a  serpent 
flyeing  in  th'ayer  toward  Lusynen,  and  not  so  hygh  but  that 
the  men  of  the  Counte3  might  see  her,  and  she  was  herd  a 
myle  in  th'ayer,  ffor  she  made  suche  noyse  that  al  the  peple 
was  abasshed.  And  so  she  flawgh4  to  Lusynen  thre  tymes 
about  the  ffortres  cryeng  so  pyteously  &  lamentably  lyke 
the  voyce  of  a  mermayde.  Wherof  they  of  the  ffortresse 
&  of  the  toun  were  gretly  abasshed,  and  wyst  not  what 
they  shuld  thinke,  ffor  they  sawe  the  figure  of  a  serpent 

1  Window-sill. 

2  A  serpent's  foot  must  have  been  remarkable — reminding  one  of  the  old  carol 
wherein  Joseph  was  invited  to  "sit  upon  a  serpent's  knee." 

3  County,  or  district.  4  Flew. 


68  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

and  the  voyce  of  a  woman  that  cam  from  the  serpent.  And 
whan  she  had  floughe  about  the  ffortresse  thre  tymes  she 
lyghted  so  sodaynly  &  horribly  upon  the  toure  called 
posterne,  bryngyng  with  her  suche  thundre  &  tempeste 
that  it  semed  that  bothe  the  fortres  &  the  tour  shuld  have 
sonk  &  fallen,  &  therwith  they  lost  the  syght  of  her  and 
wyst  not  where  she  was  be  come.  .  .  .  And  (when)  the 
tydyngs  were  knowen  in  the  Countre  the  poure  peuple 
made  grete  lamentacion  &  sorowe,  and  wysshed  her  agen 
with  pyteous  syghes,  ffor  she  had  doo1  them  grete  good. 
And  then  bygan  the  obsequyes  of  her  to  be  observyd  in  al 
abbeyes  &  churches  that  she  had  founded,  and  Raymondin 
her  lord  dede  to  be  doon2  for  her  almesses3  &  prayers 
thrugh  al  his  land." 

This  was  a  fitting  tribute  to  her  worth  and  goodness,  and 
her  memory,  or  rather  the  tradition,  of  her  existence  still 
remains  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Poitiers,  where  to  this 
day  a  sharp  and  sudden  cry  is  called  a  "  cri  de  Melusine," 
and,  at  fair  times,  Melusine  cakes  are  sold — half  woman 
half  serpent.  The  legend  goes  on  to  say  that  she  used  to 
come  at  night  to  visit  her  two  little  ones,  "  and  held  them 
tofore  the  fyre  and  eased  them  as  she  coude  ;4  and  wel 
sawe  the  nourryces  that,  who  durst  no  word  speke.  And 
more  encreced  the  two  children  in  nature  in  a  weke  than 
dide  other  children  in  a  moneth,  wherof  the  peuple  had 
grete  marvayll,  but  when  Raymondin  knew  it  by  the 

1  Done.     2  Caused  to  be  done.    3  Alms,  or  charities.    4  Well  as  she  was  able . 


MELUSINE.  69 

nourryces  that  Melusyne  cam  there  evry  nyght  to  vysyte 
her  children,  relessed  *  his  sorowe,  trustyng  to  have  her 
agen,  but  that  thoughte  was  for  nought ;  ffor  never  after 
sawe  her  in  forme  of  a  woman,  howbeit  divers  have  sith  2 
sen  her  in  femenyn  figure.  And  wete  it  that  how  (ever) 
wel  Raymondin  hoped  to  have  her  ageyn,  nevertheles  he 
had  alway  suche  herty  sorowe  that  there  is  none  that  can 
tell  it.  And  there  was  never  man  sith  that  sawe  hym 
laugh  nor  make  Joye." 

He  had,  however,  a  profound  hatred  of  his  son  Geoffrey, 
and  the  latter  went  away,  doing  useful  work.  He  killed  a 
giant,  and  released  his  prisoners,  found  the  tomb  of  his 
grandfather  and  grandmother,  after  which  he  devoted  his 
energies  to  the  slaughter  of  his  uncle,  the  Earl  of  Forest, 
whom  he  rightly  deemed  the  fons  et  origo  of  all  the  mis- 
fortunes that  happened  to  his  mother.  Having  chased 
the  unfortunate  Earl,  sword  in  hand,  all  through  the  castle, 
on  to  its  roof,  the  unhappy  nobleman,  in  an  endeavour  to 
escape,  missed  his  footing,  fell,  and  was  killed.  Raymondin 
thought  this  was  carrying  filial  duty  quite  far  enough,  and 
said,  "  I  must  (ap)pease  Geffray  or  he  do  any  more  dom- 
mage."  So  he  sent  the  young  Theodorik  to  bid  him  come 
and  see  him.  He  did  so,  and  begged  his  father's  for- 
giveness. Nay,  more,  he  promised  to  rebuild  the  abbey 
of  Maillieres,  far  more  magnificently  than  it  had  previously 
been,  and  to  provide  for  ten  monks  in  excess  of  the  original 

1  Relieved.  2  Since. 


yo  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

number.  After  rebuking  his  too  zealous  son,  Raymondin 
told  him  he  was  going  on  a  journey,  and  would  therefore 
leave  him  in  sole  charge  of  his  possessions,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  arrangement  entered  into  in  accordance  with 
Melusine's  wishes. 

This  settled,  he  set  out  for  Rome,  where  he  interviewed 
the  Pope,  named  Benedictus,  who  received  him  kindly — 
heard  his  confession,  gave  him  penance,  and  had  him  after- 
wards to  dinner.  Raymondin  informed  his  Holiness  of  his 
intention  to  retire  to  a  hermitage  at  Montserrat,  in  Aragon, 
and  obtained  the  papal  license  so  to  do.  Meanwhile 
Geoffrey's  conscience  smote  him  sorely;  and,  troubled  by 
the  recollection  of  his  misdeeds,  he  also  determined  to  go 
to  Rome,  see  the  Pope,  confess  his  sins,  and  suffer  his 
punishment.  This  he  did,  and  the  Holy  Father,  among 
many  other  penances,  ordered  him  to  rebuild  the  abbey  of 
Maillieres  and  provide  for  a  hundred  and  twenty  monks. 
Matters  thus  being  accommodated,  he  expressed  his  inten- 
tion of  finding  his  father,  and  the  Pope  directed  him  where 
to  go. 

He  duly  found  Raymondin,  who,  when  he  knew  that 
Geoffrey's  repentance  was  sincere,  took  him  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  him,  at  the  same  time  declaring  his  unalterable 
intention  to  die  a  hermit,  and  insisting  on  his  son's  return 
to  Lusignan.  On  his  arrival  there,  the  barons  did  him 
homage 'as  their  new  Earl,  and  he  then  rebuilt  the  abbey  of 
Maillieres. 


MELUSINE.  71 

We  hear  of  Melusine  yet  again,  for  the  chronicler  tells 
us  "  that  as  long  as  Raymondin  ly ved  Geffray  &  Theodoryk 
came  there  every  yere  ones  to  see  hym,  but  it  befell  on  a 
day  that  they  were  both  at  Lusynen  redy  for  to  go  to 
Mountserrat,  a  marvayllous  aventure  ;  ffor  there  was  seen 
upon  the  batelments  of  the  Castel,  a  grete  &  horryble 
serpent,  the  which  cryed  with  a  femenyn  voys,  whereof  all 
the  people  was  abasshed,  but  wel  they  wyst  that  it  was 
Melusine.  Whan  the  bretheren  beheld  it,  teerys  in  habund- 
ance  bygan  to  fall  from  their  eyen,  ffor  they  knew  wel  that 
it  was  their  moder.  And  whan  the  serpent  sawe  them 
wepe,  she  enclyned  the  heed  toward  them,  casting  such  an 
horryble  cry  &  so  dolorous  that  it  semed  (to)  them  that 
herd  it  that  the  ffortres  shuld  have  fall  (en)." 

Alarmed  at  this  portent,  the  two  sons  set  out  on  their 

journey,  only  to  find  their  father  dead.     They  did  all  that 

— 

was  possible  under  the  circumstances,  went  into  mourning, 
with  all  their  retinue,  and  gave  him  a  magnificent  funeral, 
at  which  were  present  the  King  and  Queen  of  Aragon, 
and  all  the  nobility  of  the  land. 

Here,  virtually,  the  story  of  Melusine  ends,  but  there 
are  legends  arising  out  of  it,  besides  the  deeds  of  prowess 
done  by  her  sons — such  as  her  birth,  and  the  fate  of  herself 
and  sisters.  They  were  the  daughters  of  King  Helmas  or 
Helymas  of  Albania,  and  his  wife  Pressyne,  who  was  a 
fairy.  A  difficulty  seems  always  to  attend  the  union  of  a 
mortal  and  a  supernatural  being,  and  this  case  was  no 


72  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

exception.  Fairies  must  evidently  have  their  moments  of 
retreat,  far  away  from  spying  eyes,  and  Queen  Pressyne 
bargained,  before  marriage,  that,  whilst  she  lay  in  childbed, 
her  husband  should  never  see  her,  nor  inquire  after  her. 
The  promise  was  given,  and  of  course  broken,  the  penalty 
being  the  vanishing  of  the  fairy  wife  with  her  three 
daughters,  Melusine,  Melior,  and  Palestine.  They  were 
brought  up  at  Avalon'  in  fairy-land,  and  when  they  had 
arrived  at  years  of  discretion,  z>.,  were  fifteen  years  old, 
their  mother  confided  to  them  the  secret  of  their  birth. 
The  three  girls  were  highly  indignant  with  their  father  for 
his  treatment  of  their  mother,  and,  with  the  unreasoning 
impetuosity  of  youth,  they  took  summary  means  to  punish 
him  by  enclosing  him  in  a  mountain.  At  his  death  his 
wife  buried  him  sumptuously,  but  his  tomb  was  hidden 
from  all  men,  until  discovered,  as  already  told,  by  his 
grandson  Geoffrey.  But  she  punished  her  daughters  for 
their  conduct.  We  all  know  Melusine's  sad  fate;  let  us 
trace  that  of  Melior. 

Now  it  came  to  pass,  after  the  death  of  Raymondin's  son, 
Guyon,  who  was  King  of  Armenia,  there  was  one  of  his 
descendants  who  filled  his  throne,  fair  to  look  upon,  hardy, 
and  chivalrous,  and  it  was  reported  to  him  that  in  Great 
Armenia  was  "a  Castel  whereat  was  the  most  fayre  lady  that 
men  wyst  at  that  tyme,  in  al  the  world.  The  whiche  lady 
had  a  sperhauk,1  and  to  al  knyghts  of  noble  extraction  that 

1  Sparrowhawk. 


ME LU SINE.  73 

-  thither  went,  &  coude  watche  the  said  sperhauk  duryng  the 
space  of  thre  dayes  and  thre  nyghts  without  slepe,  the 
lady  should  appere  tofore  them,  and  gyve  them  suche 
worldly  gefte  as  they  wold  wysshe,  and  were  desyryng  to 
have,  except  only  herself." 

These  were  the  terms,  simple  enough,  as  it  would  seem, 
but  very  hard  to  attain  (but  three  only  having  gained  their 
wishes),  for  even  knights  of  noble  extraction  were  only 
made  of  flesh  and  blood,  and  Melior's  beauty  so  vanquished 
them,  that  almost  invariably  they  succumbed,  and  asked  her 
love ;  whereon  a  sad  fate  overtook  them,  and  she  meted 
out  unsparing  punishment  ;  generally,  that  they  should 
remain  her  prisoners  until  the  day  of  judgment.  Another 
condition  was  attached,  that  this  castle  was  only  to  be 
visited  once  a  year,  and  that  was  the  day  before  the  vigil 
of  Saint  John,  and  on  the  morrow  of  Saint  John's  Day 
every  man  must  depart  thence. 

The  king  accepted  the  adventure,  and,  in  due  time,  came 
to  the  castle,  where  he  was  met  by  an  old  man  clothed  in 
white,  who,  after  ^interrogating  the  king  on  his  errand, 
showed  him  into  the  castle,  which  excited  his  admiration 
by  the  splendour  of  its  fittings — which  may  be  imagined 
from  the  following  description  of  the  sparrowhawk's  perch. 
"  And  after  hym  entred  the  kyng  that  perceyved  in  the 
myddst  of  the  hall  a  long  home  of  a  unicorn  *  that  was  fayre 

1  A  royal  gift  from  one  potentate  to  another,  having  no  money  value,  but 
inestimable  as  medicine,  or  as  an  amulet  by  means  of  which  poison  might  be 
discovered. 


74  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

&  whyte,  and  therupon  was  spred  a  grete  cloth  of  gold, 
wheron  stod  the  sperhauk,  and  a  glove  of  whyte  sylk 
under  his  feet." 

The  old  man  clearly  explained  the  conditions,  and  left 
his  Majesty,  who,  finding,  amongst  other  things,  that  a 
splendid  repast  was  awaiting  him,  ate  thereof, but  cautiously 
and  sparingly,  as  the  chronicle  sets  forth.  "Kept  good 
dyete,  and  made  none  exces,  fTor  wel  he  knew  that  to  moch 
meet  and  drynk  causeth  the  body  to  be  pesaunt J  and 
slepy."  His  moderation  stood  him  in  good  stead,  for  he 
achieved  his  task  of  watching  the  bird,  without  sleeping,  for 
three  days  and  nights  ;  and  his  reward  came,  when,  on  the 
fourth  day,  Melior  presented  herself.  Of  course  her 
dazzling  beauty,  and  the  lavish  wealth  everywhere  dis- 
played, "  gretely  abasshed  "  the  king,  but  she  soon  set  him 
at  his  ease.  Foolishly,  very  foolishly,  he  asked  the  hand 
of  the  lady,  but  she,  probably  because  she  was  of  kin  to 
him,  although  rebuking  him  angrily,  yet  gave  him  another 
chance  to  retrieve  his  error. 

Still,  however,  bewitched  by  her  beauty,  he  asked  for 
herself  only,  and  yet  once  more  she  gave  him  a  chance  to 
recant  his  choice,  telling  him  her  history ;  that  she  was  of 
kin  to  him,  and  that  Holy  Church  would  not  suffer  their 
union,  and,  as  a  punishment,  she  prophesied  evil  to  himself 
and  his  heirs,  and  that  their  estate  should  fall  into  decay. 
Blinded  by  his  infatuation,  "  he  wold  have  taken  the  lady 

1  Heavy. 


THE   KINGS   PUNISHMENT. 


[Seep.  77- 


ME  LU SINE.  77 

by  maner  of  vyolens  &  by  force  ;  but  soon  Melyor  vanysshed, 
that  he  wyst  never  where  she  was  become,"  thus  proving 
that  fairies  are  fully  able  to  hold  their  own  against  vile 
man. 

The  king's  punishment  swiftly  followed  his  fault.  Im- 
mediatly  after  the  departyng  of  Melyor,  there  fell  upon 
the  Kyng  gret  &  pesaunt  strokes  as  thykk  as  rayn  falleth 
from  the  skye,  wherof  he  was  al  so  brused  in  every  part  of 
his  body,  and  was  drawen  by  the  feet  from  the  halle  unto 
the  barrers  J  without  the  Castel."  He  never  saw  his  enemies, 
but  when  he  came  to  shake  himself  together,  and  look  at 
his  rueful  case,  his  armour  all  dinted  and  broken,  and 
himself  a  mass  of  bruises,  he  cursed  a  thousand  times  the 
man  whoever  brought  him  the  first  tidings  of  this  adventure, 
and  sailed,  a  sadder  and  a  sorer  man,  to  his  own  dominions, 
and  afterwards  all  fell  out  as  Melior  had  predicted.  This 
seems  to  have  been  the  last  ever  heard  of  her. 

Her  sister  Palestine's  fate  was  to  be  shut  up  in  a 
place  in  Aragon,  where  she  sat  for  ever  guarding  her 
father's  treasures,  which  could  only  be  attained  by  one  of 
his  lineage.  Many  noble  knights  essayed  the  task  of 
rescuing  the  fabulous  riches  which  were  under  her  guardian- 
ship, but  none  ever  returned,  being  killed  by  the  serpents, 
dragons,  and  other  fearsome  beasts  which  guarded  it.  But 
Geoffrey,  in  his  old  age,  hearing  of  the  disappearance  of  an 
English  knight  who  was  of  Tristram's  line,  who  foolishly 

1  Barriers. 


78  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

engaged  in  this  quest,  determined  to  attempt  it  himself, 
but  his  time  for  such  adventures  was  past,  and  he  died  before 
he  could  accomplish  it. 

But  Melusine  was  not  easily  disposed  of,  for  Jean 
d'Arras  relates  several  of  her  recent  appearances,  authen- 
ticating them  as  well  as  any  modern  ghost  story  could 
possibly  be.  One  is  of  a  knight  named  Gersnell,  who  was 
keeping  the  castle  of  Lusignan,  as  lieutenant  for  the  King 
of  England,  at  the  time  when  John,  Due  of  Berry  and 
Auvergne,  besieged  it,  who  "sayd  to  hym  after  the  reduccyon 
of  the  ffortres,  that  thre  days  tofore  that  he  gaf  it  up,  he 
lyeng  in  hys  bed  with  a  woman,  hys  concubine,  named 
Alexaundryne,  perceyved  a  grete  &  horryble  serpent  in  the 
myddle  of  the  chambre,  wherof  he  was  gretly  abasshed  & 
sore  agast,  and  wold  have  taken  the  swerd  to  have  des- 
charged  it  upon  the  serpent,  but  Alexaundrine  said  thenne 
to  hym  in  this  manyere.  Ha  valyaunt  Gersnell,  how  ofte 
have  I  sene  your  mortal  enemyes  tofore  your  presence, 
that  never  ye  were  aferd,  and  now  for  a  serpent  of  femenyn 
nature  ye  shake  for  fere.  Wete  it  for  trouth  that  this 
serpent  is  the  lady  of  this  place  &  she  that  edyfyed  it,  she 
shal  by  no  manere  wise  hurt  nor  dommage  you,  but  so  ferre 
I  understand  by  her  apparysshing  that  needs  ye  shal  hastly 
delyvere  &  gyve  up  this  ffortres  to  the  Due  of  Berry.  And 
moreover,  said  the  said  Gersnell  to  my  said  lord,  that  hys  con- 
cubyne  fered  nothyng  the  serpent,  but  that  he  was  never  in  his 
dayes  so  aferd.  And  that  he  sawe  thenne  the  said  serpent 


MELUSINE.  79 

tourned  into  a  forme  of  a  woman  clothed  in  a  gowne  of 
cours  cloth,  &  gyrded  with  a  grete  corde  undernethe  the 
pappes  of  her,  and  soone  after  tourned  herselfe  in  the 
figure  of  a  serpent  and  so  vanysshed  away." 

Also,  as  if  this  were  not  sufficient,  a  man  named  Godart, 

who  lived  within  the  fortress,  swore  on  the  Gospels  that  he 

|  had  many  times  seen  the  said  serpent  upon  the  walls,  and 

|  she  never  meddled   with   him.      And  to  make   the  case 

stronger,  one  Guyon  of  Wales  deposed  that  on  the  night 

the  apparition  appeared  to  Gersnell,  he  also  saw  it  upon 

the  battlements  of  the  dongeon  keep. 

Can  any  one  doubt  the  truth  of  the  story  after  this  ? 
Reader,  do  you  ? 


Sir  3$umbra$ 

IS  peculiarly  an  English  Romance — at  least  we  know  of 
no  version  in  a  foreign  tongue,  and,  indeed,  those  in 
English  are  very  scarce.  Three  MSS.  are  known 
to  exist,  all  of  the  i$th  century,  one  at  Lincoln,  in  the 
Thornton  Collection  ;  another  in  the  library  of  Caius 
•College,  Cambridge  ;  and  a  third  is  in  the  British  Museum 
{Cotton,  Caligula,  A.  ii.).  These  have  been  published — the 
first  in  extenso — but  the  language  is  very  archaic,  so  that 
I  have  preferred  taking  the  first  printed  copy  I  could  find, 
and  that  is  one  printed  by  William  Copland.  Black  letter, 
no  date,  but  in  the  British  Museum  Catalogue  it  is  approxi- 
mately given  as  1550.  This  edition  fulfilled  most  of  the 
^conditions  I  required.  Any  one  with  a  very  slight  know- 
ledge of  Old  English  could  read  it  easily,  and,  although 
it  varies  in  its  language  from  the  MSS.,  it  is  in  complete 
accord  with  them  as  to  the  story. 

The    frontispiece    is    evidently   much    older   than    the 
printing,  as  the  wood-block  of  the  knight  is  both  worm- 


84  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

eaten  and  broken.  It  served  its  purpose,  however,  as  it 
had  already  done  duty  as  frontispiece  for  Syr  Bevys  of 
Hampton,  published  by  the  same  printer. 

Of  all  the  nobles  of  his  time,  Sir  Isumbras  seems  to- 
have  been  the  most  favoured.  Of  specially  comely 
person,  great  strength,  and  prowess  in  arms,  wealthy,  and 
yet  liberal  of  his  wealth,  with  a  beautiful  wife  and  three 
lovely  children — a  happier  existence  could  hardly  be 
imagined ;  and  so  the  old  chronicler  seems  to  have, 
thought  when  he  wrote. 

Ye  shall  well  heare  of  a  knight 

That  was  in  warre  full  wyght,1 

And  doughtye  2  of  his  dede. 

Hys  name  was  syr  Isenbras, 

Man  nobler  than  he  was, 

Lyved  none  with  breade. 

He  was  lyvely,  large  and  longe, 

With  shoulders  broade,  and  armes  stronge 

That  myghtie  was  to  se. 

He  was  a  hardy  man  and  hye, 

All  men  hym  loved  that  hym  se, 

For  a  gentyll  knight  was  he. 

Harpers  loved  him  in  hall, 

With  other  minstrels  all, 

For  he  gave  them  golde  and  fee. 

He  was  as  curtoise  as  men  might  thinke,, 

Lyberall  of  meate  and  drynke 

In  the  worlde  was  none  so  fre. 

He  hade  a  ladye  full  of  beautye 

And  also  full  of  charitie 

As  any  lady  might  be. 

1  Active.  2  Brave. 


SIR  ISUMBRAS.  85 

Betwene  them  thay  had  chyldren  thre, 
Fayrer  forms  myght  no  man  se 
Under  the  cope  of  heaven. 

This  reads  somewhat  like  the  perfection  of  human 
i  bliss,  and  so  it  might  have  been,  had  not  Sir  Isumbras 
lacked  some  spiritual  essentials,  which,  in  all  probability, 
was  owing  to  his  worldly  prosperity  and  happiness.  He 
was  puffed  up  with  pride,  and  never  thought  of  the  Giver 
of  all  things,  who  had  so  bounteously  bestowed  His 
favours  upon  him  ;  and  God  thought  it  necessary,  for  the 
knight's  soul's  sake,  and  for  the  salutary  lesson  to  be 
learned  from  the  example  he  intended  to  make  of  him, 
to  chasten  him  for  his  pride  and  bring  him  low. 

So,  after,  it  befell  on  a  daye 

That  this  knyght  went  him  to  piaye 

Hys  forest  for  to  se. 

As  he  loked  up  on  hye 

He  sawe  an  aungell  in  the  skye 

Which  toward  hym  dyd  flye. 

Isenbras,  he  sayde  there, 

Thou  hast  forgotten  what  thou  were 

For  pryde,  and  golde,  and  fee. 

Wherfore  our  lord  sayth  to  thee  so 

All  thy  good[s]  thou  must  forego 

As  thou  shalt  hereafter  se. 

The  worldes  welth  shall  fro  the x  fall, 

Thou  shalt  lose  thy  children  all, 

And  all  thy  landes  free. 

Thy  lady  goodlyest  of  all, 

For  feare  of  fyre  shall  flye  thy  hall 

This  daye  or  thou  her  se. 

1  From  thee. 


86  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

The  knyghte  fell  doune  upon  his  kne 
Underneth  an  Olyve  tre 
And  helde  up  both  his  handes. 
And  then  agayne  thus  sayde  he 
Lorde  God  in  trinitie 
Welcome  be  thy  soundes. 
While  I  am  yonge,  I  maye  well  go, 
When  I  am  olde,  I  may  not  so, 
Though  that  I  fayne  woulde. 
Therfore  Jesu  I  pray  thee 
In  youth  send  me  adversitie, 
And  not  when  I  am  olde. 
The  aungel  toke  from  thence  his  flight, 
And  left  alone  that  carefull  knyght ; 
From  hym  he  .wente  his  waye. 

Swift  was  the  divine  punishment ;  for  no  sooner  was 
the  angel  gone,  than  his  strong  steed  dropped  down  dead 
from  under  him,  and  his  hawks  and  hounds  suddenly 
expired,  and  in  this  plight  nought  was  left  for  him  but 
to  take  his  sad  way  homeward  on  foot,  whilst  the  tears 
streamed  down  his  cheeks.  On  his  way  he  was  met  by 
some  of  his  household,  who  had  but  sad  news  to  give  him  : 
how  that  all  his  cattle  had  been  destroyed  by  adders, 
that  worms  had  killed  his  capons,  and  that  he  had  no 
beast  left  for  the  plough,  they  having  died  from  the  effects 
of  thunder.  He  took  their  news  with  becoming  resigna- 
tion and  bade  them  pass  on.  Sad-hearted,  he  still  bent  his 
steps  homeward,  when  he  was  met  by  "  a  lytle  lad  "  who 
told  him  the  grievous  news  that  all  his  castle,  &c.,  was 
burned  to  the  ground,  and  that  many  of  his  people  had 
been  killed.  In  fact  the  only  lives  saved  were  those  of 


ISUMBRAS.  87 

his  wife  and  children  who  had  fled  for  fear  of  the  fire. 
When  he  reached  the  scene  of  the  catastrophe  he  found  it 
even  as  it  had  been  reported  unto  him. 

A  dolefull  sight  than  gan  he  se, 
Hys  wyfe  and  his  chyldren  thre 
Out  of  the  fyre  were  fled. 
There  they  sate  under  a  thorne 
Bare  and  naked  as  they  wer  borne, 
Brought  out  of  theyr  bed. 

He  took  off  his  "surcoat  of  pallade"1  and  put  it  on  his 
wife,  cut  his  scarlet  mantle  into  three  pieces  in  which  to 
wrap  his  children,  and,  being  fully  imbued  with  the  awful 
punishments  with  which  God  had  thought  good  to  afflict 
him,  he  suggested  to  his  wife  that  they  should  at  once 
set  out  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land,  and  visit 
Calvary.  This  resolution  they  carried  into  effect  at  once, 
but  in  a  very  meek,  and  lowly  fashion. 

The  lorde  and  the  ladye  bende 2 

Toke  theyr  way  for  to  wende 

Upon  the  same  daye. 

Whan  that  they  departe  shoulde 

For  them  wept  both  yonge  and  olde, 

Both  wyfe,  wydow,  man  and  maye.3 

They  bare  with  them  no  maner  of  thynge 

That  was  worth  a  farthynge, 

Cattell,  golde  ne  fe.4 

But  mekely  they  asked  theyr  meate 

Where  that  they  myght  it  gette 

For  saynct  charytie. 

1  A  rich  kind  of  cloth.    2  Bowed  to  circumstances.     3  Maid.     4  Nor  property. 


88  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

In  this  humble  manner  they  passed  through  "  seven 
lands "  safely,  sometimes  subsisting  on  the  alms  of  the 
charitable ;  at  others,  only  on  berries,  and  the  tender 
shoots  of  the  thorn.  At  length  they  came  to  a  river, 
through  which  Sir  Isumbras  waded,  with  his  eldest  child 
in  his  arms,  and,  having  placed  him  under  a  bush  of  broom, 
he  re-crossed  the  river  to  fetch  his  second  born ;  but,  whilst 
he  was  in  mid  stream,  a  lion  bore  away  his  eldest  boy, 
and  a  leopard  took  his  next  child,  who  was  with  his 
mother. 

After  the  first  burst  of  grief  they  piously  bowed  to  the 
will  of  the  Creator,  and  pursued  their  journey  through  a 
forest,  until  they  came  to  the  sea  shore,  where  they  saw  a 
fleet  of  "  thre  hundred  shyppes  and  mo,"  belonging  to  the 
Soudan  of  the  Saracens,  who  was  there  in  person.  As 
they  had  tasted  neither  meat  nor  drink  for  seven  days, 
they  not  unnaturally  agreed  to  pay  the  Soudan  a  visit, 
and  ask  for  some  provisions.  But  the  Soudan  thought 
they  were  spies,  and  ordered  them  to  be  beaten  and  sent 
away.  Their  pitiful  case,  however,  was  apparent  to  the 
bystanders,  and  caused  much  commiseration  among  them. 

A  knyght  kneled  before  the  kynge 

And  sayd  it  is  a  pytifull  thynge 

That  poore  penaunce  to  se. 

He  semeth  a  man  so  gentyll  and  fre, 

Though  he  be  in  necessitie, 

It  is  ruth1  and  pytie. 

1  Compassion  should  be  shown  him. 


ISUMBRAS.  89 

His  eyen  are  gray  as  any  glasse  ; 
Were  he  as  well  fedde  as  ever  he  was 
Like  a  knight  shoulde  he  be. 
Hys  wyfe  as  wyte  as  whalesbone, 
Though  she  with  weping  be  overgone, 
She  is  as  white  as  blosome  on  tre. 

This  intercession  had  weight  with  the  Soudan,  and  he 
ordered  the  wayfarers  to  be  brought  before  him,  which 
was  done,  after  they  had  been  fed  and  clothed.  He  was 
struck  with  Sir  Isumbras's  personal  appearance,  and 
offered  to  dub  him  a  knight  if  he  would  go  and  fight  for 
him,  first  of  all  renouncing  Christianity  and  embracing 
the  faith  of  Mahound.  But  this  was  too  much  for  Sir 
Jsumbras's  othodoxy : 

I  shall  never  Hethen  hounde  become, 

Nor  warre  againste  Christendome, 

Therfore  to  dye  thys  daye  (he  was  willing). 

Create  wayes  we  have  to  gone, 

Meat  ne  drynke  have  we  none, 

Ne  penye  for  to  paye. 

Syr,  helpe  us  to  our  lyves  fode,1 

For  hys  love  that  dyed  on  rode,2 

And  let  us  walk  awaye. 

But  this  was  not  to  be,  for  the  Soudan  was  struck  by 
the  angelic  beauty  of  the  lady,  and,  after  his  Oriental 
manner,  he  wished  to  purchase  her  of  her  husband,  offering 
him  "an  hundred  pounde  of  fayre  Florence  rede  and 
rounde,  and  red  robes  seven  : "  besides  which,  she  was  to 

1  Food.  2  Rood,  or  cross. 


90  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

be  made  the  Soudan's  queen.  Needless  to  say,  Sir 
Isumbras  indignantly  refused  such  a  bargain,  but  the 
Soudan  had  force  majeure  on  his  side,  paid  the  money  and 
garments,  and  seized  the  lady.  Sir  Isumbras  threw  away 
the  money,  and,  for  his  pains,  got  a  terrible  beating,  from 
which,  as  soon  as  he  was  recovered,  he  took  his  son  by  the 
hand  and  went  forth.  Seemingly  both  Sir  Isumbras  and 
his  wife  looked  upon  these  events  as  manifestations  of  the 
Divine  will,  and  accepted  them  with  resignation,  for  the 
Soudan  immediately  crowned  the  lady  as  his  queen,  and 
she  made  no  resistance  thereto,  only  stipulating  to  have  a 
few  last  words  with  her  former  husband. 

This  was  granted,  and,  after  an  affecting  interview,  she 
advised  Sir  Isumbras  to  go  away,  and,  for  the  future,  to 
exert  all  his  energies  in  endeavouring  to  conquer  and  kill 
the  Soudan,  and  enjoy  his  kingdom. 

Then  this  ladye  meke  and  mylde 
Kyssed  hym,  and  than  her  chylde, 
Then  sowned  x  she  tymes  thre. 

After  which  she  sailed  for  Syria,  and  her  husband, 
accepting  the  position,  took  the  gold  and  red  robes,  and 
with  his  little  son  went  on  his  way.  At  night,  weary  and 
tired,  they  lay  upon  the  bare  earth,  but  with  the  morn 
came  an  adventure,  for  an  eagle  carried  off  the  red  robes 
in  which  were  wrapped  both  the  gold,  for  which  he  had 
sold  his  wife,  and  also  his  provisions.  He  followed  the 

1  Swooned. 


1  SUMS R  AS.  91 

bird  till  stopped  by  the  shores  of  the  Grecian  Sea,  over 
which  the  eagle  flew,  and  he  returned  sadly  to  his  young 
son,  who,  however,  in  the  meantime,  had  been  carried  off 
by  an  unicorn ;  and  this  last  blow  utterly  crushed  the 

knight. 

The  knyghte  afore  was  often  wo, 

But  never  then  he  was  so, 

He  set  hym  on  a  stone. 

Lorde,  he  saye,  wo  is  me, 

For  my  wyfe  and  my  chyldren  thre, 

Now  am  I  left  alone. 

The  kynge  that  bare  of  thorne  the  croune, 

Wysshe  me  a  waye  unto  the  towne, 

For  all  amysse  have  I  gone. 

Hungry,  tired,  and  heartsore,  he  proceeded  on  his  way, 
until  he  saw  the  light  of  a  fire,  which  proceeded  from  a 
smith's  forge.  He  begged  for  bread,  but  the  smiths  were 
utilitarian  in  their  ideas,  and  refused  to  give  any  unless  he 
worked  for  it.  "  They  sayde,  labour,  for  so  do  we."  Sir 
Isumbras  complied,  and  worked  for  them  for  a  twelve- 
month in  doing  arduous  and  menial  work,  but  after  that 
time  he  was  initiated  into  the  art  and  mystery  of  working 
in  iron,  and  he  worked  at  this  trade  for  seven  years,  be- 
coming so  proficient  therein  that  he  was  enabled  to  make 
himself  a  suit  of  armour,  and  all  that  belonged  to  a 
knight's  outfit. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  he  heard  that  the  Christians 
had  taken  the  field  against  the  Saracens,  and  he  deter- 
mined to  join  them  ;  so,  buckling  on  his  armour,  he  got 


92  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

the  best  substitute  for  a  charger  that  he  could,  "  a  croked 
caple  that  coles  broughte,"  and  started  for  the  fray. 
Needless  to  say  he  fought  like  a  paladin,  until  the  poor 
"caple"  was  slain.  His  prowess  had  been  so  prominent, 
that  when  this  event  happened,  an  Earl  gave  him  a  good 
steed  and  a  fine  suit  of  armour  instead  of  his  home-made 
one.  Thus  accoutred,  he  -once  more  mixed  in  the  melee, 
dealing  hard  blows  all  round,  and  at  last  he  slew  the 
Soudan.  Such  a  feat  as  this  could  not  fail  of  recognition 
by  the  Christian  king,  and  Sir  Isumbras  was  brought 
before  him,  all  wounded  as  he  was,  and  questioned  as  to 
who  he  was. 

Syr,  quod  he,  a  smythe's  man, 
To  defend  thee  in  fyghte. 

The  king  promised  to  make  him  a  knight,  and  gener- 
ally to  look  after  his  fortune,  and,  in  the  meantime, 
ordered  him  to  a  nunnery,  where  the  good  sisters  might 
heal  him  of  his  wounds.  Here  he  was  greatly  petted, 

Because  he  had  the  Sowdan  slayne, 
With  many  a  Heathen  hounde. 

When  he  got  well,  he  would  not  wait  for  honours  to  be 
bestowed  upon  him,  but  dressed  himself  like  a  palmer, 
and,  having  taken  a  grateful  farewell  of  the  prioress  and 
the  nuns,  he  again  set  out  on  his  pilgrimage.  He  found 
a  ship  sailing  for  Acre,  and  soon  reached  that  city,  from 
whence  he  prosecuted  his  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Sepul- 
chre. Hard  and  toilsome  was  the  way,  and  the  food, 


SfJS  ISUMBRAS.  93 

too,  poor  and  insufficient  ;  but  a  blessed  change  was   at 

hand,  and  he  was  about  to  reap  the  reward  of  his  suffer- 
ings. 

Faint  and  hungry, 

Beside  the  borowe J  of  Bethlem, 

He  set  hym  by  a  well  streme, 

Tyll  the  day  was  dymme. 

As  he  sat  and  sore  syght 

There  came  an  aungell  about  mydnight 

And  brought  hym  bread  and  wyne. 

Isenbras,  he  sayde,  lysten  unto  mee, 

Our  lorde  hath  pardon  graunted  to  thee, 

Forgeven  are  synnes  thyne. 

Nowe  rest  the  well,  syr  Isenbras, 

Forgeven  is  all  thy  trespas, 

Shortly  for  to  sayne.2 

My  Lorde  is  heaven['s]  kynge 

Hath  the  geven  hys  blessynge, 

And  byddeth  the  turne  agayne. 

The  knyght  on  his  knees  hym  set, 

And  Christ  of  heaven  kynge  he  grete[d], 

Of  the  tydynges  he  was  fayne.3 

The  angel  left  him,  and  Sir  Isumbras,  fortified  by  the 
food  he  had  taken,  retraced  his  steps.  He  wandered 
about  until  he  .heard  of  a  fair  castle,  wherein  dwelt  a 
queen,  who  was  a  paragon  of  all  that  was  good,  and 

Every  day  she  made  a  dole 

Of  many  florences,  gold  and  hole,4 

Whoso  woulde  it  fetche. 

Sir   Isumbras  was  in  that  lowly  condition  when  either 

1  Burgh,  or  town.  2  Say.  3  Glad. 

4  I.e.,  not  clipped,  but  nice  and  round,  fresh  from  the  mint. 


94  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

money  or  meat  would  be  acceptable,  and  at  once  made 
for  that  castle.  He  joined  the  ranks  of  the  poor,  and  duly 
received  his  golden  florin  from  the  queen,  who  chose 
fifty  of  the  poorest  and  feeblest  from  among  them,  and 
Sir  Isumbras  with  them.  The  queen  presided  at  the 
feast  of  these  poor  folk,  and,  from  some  cause  unexplained, 
either  from  his  superior  state  of  emaciation,  or  from  his 
palmer's  garb,  denoting  a  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land, 
the  steward  gave  directions  that  he  should  sit  above  all 
the  other  company.  Food  and  drink  were  given  him,  but 
he  did  not  partake  of  them,  but  sat  still,  shedding  tears. 
Probably  this  behaviour  called  particular  attention  to  him, 
for  the  queen  ordered  a  chair  and  a  cushion  to  be  pro- 
vided for  the  poor  palmer,  that  he  might  relate  to  her  the 
adventures  he  had  met  with  in  the  many  lands  through 
which  he  had  travelled.  He  gratified  her  curiosity  with 
many  traveller's  tales,  but  no  temptation  in  the  form  of 
rich  meats,  &c.,  could  induce  him  to  eat.  The  queen  bade 
him  dread  nothing,  but — 

For  his  soule  that  was  my  Lorde 
I  will  the  finde  at  bed  and  borde, 
Fayre  to  cloth  and  feede. 
At  thyne  ease  thou  shalt  be, 
With  much  mirth  game  and  gle, 
Both  early  and  late. 
A  clene  chamber  and  a  iayre, 
And  a  man  to  serve  thee 
Within  the  castle  gate — 

a  position  which  was  gratefully  accepted  by  Sir  Isumbras 


ISUMBRAS.  95 

who  fell  on  his  knees  and  thanked  the  queen  ;  but  this 
promotion  naturally  brought  with  it  envy  from  those  less 
fortunate.  At  length  there  was  a  tournament,  and  he 
was  horsed  "  on  a  fayre  stede."  His  generous  diet  had 
brought  back  his  old  strength,  and  he  played  havoc  with 
the  Saracens  ;  none  could  stand  before  him. 

Some  he  caste  over  the  lake, 

Of  some  both  necke  and  backe  he  brake, 

They  fled  from  hym  for  drede. 

The  ladye  seying  that,  fast  lough,1 

And  sayde  my  palmer  is  strong  ynough, 

And  worthy  for  to  ryde. 

And  now  a  curious  adventure  befel  Sir  Isumbras,  bor- 
dering somewhat  on  the  marvellous  :  for,  as  he  was  walk- 
ing one  day,  he  espied  a  heron's  nest,  wherefrom  fluttered 
a  red  cloth.  Being  somewhat  amazed  at  this  singular 
sight  he  climbed  the  tree,  and  in  the  nest  he  found  his 
own  red  robe,  of  which  the  eagle  had  robbed  him,  still 
containing  the  gold  which  had  been  given  him  as  the 
price  of  his  wife,  the  sight  of  which  well-nigh  sent  him 
mad. 

When  he  se  the  reade  golde 
Wherfore  hys  ladye  was  solde, 
Then  was  he  woode  2  of  mynde. 
The  golde  into  the  chambre  he  bare, 
Under  his  heade  he  putte  it  there, 
Then  wepynge  he  went  his  waye. 
Ever  when  he  the  golde  gan  se, 
Hys  songe  was  well  a  waye. 
1  Laughed  loudly.  2  Mad. 


96  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Were  he  never  of  chere  so  good 
Whan  he  in  hys  chamber  yode  * 
After  he  wepte  all  the  daye. 

This  lachrymose  behaviour  naturally  attracted  attention, 
and  was  reported  to  the  queen ;  and,  by  way  of  solving  the 
mystery,  four  knights  broke  open  the  door  of  Sir  Isum- 
bras'  chamber,  and  found  the  red  robes  and  the  gold,  which 
they  took  to  the  queen,  who,  at  the  sight  of  these  tokens, 
especially  of  the  gold  for  which  she  had  been  sold  into 
splendid  slavery,  swooned  thrice.  When  she  came  to 
herself — 

Often  she  syghed,  and  sayde  alas, 
This  ought  a  knyght  Syr  Isenbras 
That  my  lorde  was  wont  to  be. 
Unto  the  knyghts  there  she  tolde 
How  that  she  for  golde  was  solde, 
Her  lorde  was  beaten  there. 
Where  ye  maye  the  palmer  se 
Byd  hym  come  and  speke  with  me: 
Therto  me  longeth  sore. 
The  palmer  came  into  the  hall, 
Unto  counsell  she  dyd  him  call, 
And  asked  hym  right  there. 
How  that  he  the  golde  wan, 
And  whether  he  were  a  gentleman, 
And  in  what  countre  he  was  borne. 
With  carfull  harte,2  and  rewfull 3  dreare 
He  gave  the  quene  this  aunswere 
On  knees  her  before. 
The  first  tale  that  he  her  tolde 
Madame  therfore  my  wife  was  solde 
I  do  you  to  understande. 

1  Went.  2  Heart  full  of  care.  3  Rueful. 


ISUMBRAS.  97 

Thre  chyldren  have  I  lore,1 

My  mantel  was  awaye  bore, 

I  in  a  nest  it  founde. 

Tho 2  had  the  lady  great  solace, 

She  fell  in  sowning,  so  faynt  she  was 

When  they  together  met. 

There  was  myrthe  to  se  them  mete 

With  clypping  3  and  kissing  swete 

In  armes  for  to  folde. 

Eyther  of  other  was  so  fayne 

They  wolde  it  no  longer  layne  ; 4 

To  the  knyghtes  they  it  tolde. 

A  ryche  brydale  dyd  they  byd, 

Both  riche  and  poore  thyther  yede,5 

Would  none  themselfe  with  holde. 

Syr  Isenbras  was  rayed6  ryght, 

And  crowned  kyng,  that  erre  7  was  knyght, 

With  a  gaye  garlande  of  golde. 

The  chronicle  does  not  treat  of  the  happiness  of  the 
reunited  pair,  but  it  can  well  be  imagined.  It  was  hardly 
to  be  expected  that  his  most  Christian  Majesty  King 
Isumbras  would  live  in  friendly  accord  with  the  dogs  of 
Mahound,  his  heathen  neighbours  ;  nor,  indeed,  does  he 
seem  to  have  gained  the  affection  of  his  own  subjects,  for 
when  his  neighbours  rose  against  him,  all  his  people,  with- 
out exception,  forsook  him,  and  left  him  perfectly  alone 
to  fight  the  Saracen  hosts. 

Sir  Isumbras  does  not  seem  to  have  quailed,  although 
he  felt  he  must  be  going  to  certain  destruction.  His 
parting  from  his  queen  is  well  told. 

1  Lost.  2  Then.  3  Embracing. 

They  would  no  longer  delay  their  reunion. 
Went.  6  Arrayed,  apparelled.  1  Erst,  before. 


98  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Syr  Isenbras  curtoyse  and  kene1 

Toke  hys  leave  of  his  quene, 

And  after  syghed  full  sore. 

He  loked  on  her  with  eyen  graye 

And  sayd,  Madame,  have  good  daye 

For  now  and  evermore. 

The  ladye  sayd  unto  the  knight, 

I  woulde  I  were  in  armure  bright 

With  you  that  I  myght  fare. 

If  God  woulde  the  grace  sende, 

That  we  myght  together  wende, 

Then  gone  were  all  my  care. 

Sone  was  the  lady  dyghte  2 

In  armure  as  she  were  a  knyghte, 

With  horse,  with  speare,  and  shelde. 

Agaynst  thyrty  thousand  Sarasins,  and  mo 

Of  christen  came  but  they  two 

Alone  into  the  feylde. 

Strong  indeed  must  have  been  the  faith  that  impellec 
the  pair  to  encounter  the  Saracenic  horde.  The  heather 
raged  furiously  around  them,  but  the  knight  was  calm,  anc 
swore  by  "  swete  Jesu  "  that  he  would  not  give  in  whilsi 
he  "  may  in  styrope  stande,"  and  his  lady,  following  hi< 
example,  swore  by  "  Mary  mylde  "  that  "  she  woulde  do  hei 
myghte."  The  battle  began,  and  they  twain  did  prodigies 
of  valour,  overcoming  all  who  came  against  them,  until 
the  Soudan  of  the  Saracens  "  was  out  of  his  wyt,"  and 
promised  rewards  and  lands  to  any  one  who  would  lay 
Sir  Isumbras  low. 

It  was  not  to  be  done  single-handed,  and  it  was  there- 
fore proposed  that  a  combined  rush  should  be  made  on 

1  Earnest,  bold.  2  Clad. 


SIR  ISUMBRAS.  99 

Sir  Isumbras,  and  thus  overwhelm  him  with  sheer  force  of 
numbers.  This  was  done,  and  the  knight  and  his  lady 
were  in  such  sore  straits,  that  but  a  short  time  could  only 
elapse  before  they  certainly  must  be  slain,  when  a  miracle 
came  to  their  aid. 

Ryght  as  they  slayne  shoulde  have  be,1 

There  came  ryding  kynges  thre 

On  beastes  that  were  wylde. 

One  on  a  Leoparde,  and  one  on  a  Unicorne, 

And  one  a  Lion,  one  ranne  beforne,2 

Theyr  eldest  sonne  to  beare. 

The  knyghtes  fought  as  they  were  wode,3 

And  slewe  all  that  before  them  stode  ; 

Great  wonder  it  was  to  se. 

The  Heathen  knyghtes  slew  the  4  there, 

The  Sarasyns  that  counted  were 

Thurtye  thousand  and  thre. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  these  three  champions  who 
arrived  so  opportunely  were  the  three  lost  children  of  Sir 
Isumbras  and  his  wife.  The  chronicle  does  not  attempt  to 
account  for  their  sudden  appearance  other  than  "  The 
grace  of  God  us  hether  sent."  Sir  Isumbras'  faithless 
subjects  seem  to  have  returned  to  their  allegiance,  and 
everything  went  very  happily.  The  three  sons  each  con- 
quered him  a  "  land,"  and  christianized  the  people,  and  the 
j  Romance  concludes. 

Than  was  Kynge  Syr  Isenbras 
Of  more  welth  than  ever  he  was, 
And  come  out  of  his  care. 

1  Been.  2  Before.  3  Mad.  4  They. 


ioo  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

To  every  sonne  he  gave  a  lande, 

And  crouned  hym  kynge  with  his  hande, 

Whyle  they  together  were. 

The  eldest  sonne  was  in  Surrye r 

Chosen  chyefe  of  chyvalre, 

As  kynge  and  governoure. 

The  seconde  sonne,  shortly  to  say, 

In  an  He  called  laffaye 

Reygned  with  great  honour. 

The  youngest  brother  was  crowned  kynge 

Of  Calabre  without  leasynge  : 2 

Thus  reygned  they  all  thre. 

And  when  it  pleased  God  of  hys  myght, 

They  all  departed  in  heavens  lyght, 

To  the  whiche  brynge  us  the  trinitie, 

Amen,  Amen,  for  charitie. 

1  Syria.  2  Lying. 


Sir  2>egore* 

AS  far  as  I  can  find,  there  is  no  MS.  edition  of  this 
Romance  in  the  British  Museum,  but  it  exists  in 
the   Auchinleck   MSS.,   and   there  is    another   at 
Cambridge.     The   copy   from    which    I    have   drawn  was 
printed  by  Copland,  circa  1550,  and  is  one  of  the  Garrick 
Collection  in  the  British  Museum.     There  was  also  a  copy 
of  this  Romance  printed  by  Wynkyn  de  Worde,  4°,   18 
leaves  with  woodcuts,  and  another  printed  by  John  King, 
1560,  is  in  the  Bodleian  Library. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  king  of  England,  whose 
name  has  not  been  handed  down  to  us,  who  was  very 
valiant,  and  highly  skilled  in  martial  exercises,  and  who 
loved  nothing  more  than  jousting.  He  had  but  one 
daughter,  whose  mother  had  died  in  giving  birth  to  her, 
and  he  loved  her  dearly.  Kings'  sons  and  the  great  ones 
of  the  earth  had  wooed  this  princess,  but  hitherto  without 


104  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

success,  because  the  king  exacted  from  each  suitor  that 
they  should  joust  together,  and  only  he  who  could  lift  the 
king  out  of  his  saddle  and  both  stirrups  should  wed  her. 
All  had  failed,  and  matters  stood  thus  at  the  beginning  of 
the  story. 

It  was  his  custom  to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of  his 
queen's  death  with  some  solemnity  in  the  abbey  in  which 
she  was  buried,  and  this  Romance  commences  with  the 
procession  thither,  in  which  the  princess  rode  with  her 
father ;  but  something  happening  amiss  to  her  apparel,  she 
called  her  chamberlain  and  ladies-in-waiting  to  her,  and 
dismounted  in  order  to  put  it  right.  This  seems  to  have 
taken  some  time,  for  when  they  started  again  the  proces- 
sion was  both  out  of  sight  and  hearing,  and  somehow  they 
took  the  wrong  turning,  and  missed  their  way,  getting  lost 
in  a  forest.  It  was  very  hot,  they  were  tired,  and  they  lay 
down  on  the  grass  to  rest,  whilst  the  king's  daughter  went 
and  gathered  flowers.  She  strayed  so  far  that  she  lost  her 
companions,  and,  after  the  manner  of  her  sex,  she  wept  and 
wrung  her  hands,  fearing  to  be  hurt  by  wild  beasts. 

Suddenly  she  saw  before  her  a  knight,  richly  dressed, 
who  begged  her  not  to  be  afraid  of  him,  for  that  he  had 
loved  her  many  years,  and  that  now,  having  met  her  thus 
opportunely,  he  should  gratify  his  passion.  Utterly 
paralyzed  with  fear  and  grief,  she  made  no  defence,  and 
before  the  knight  left  her,  he  gave  her  a  present  for  the 
son  she  should  bear. 


DEGORE.  105 

Therfore  my  swearde  he  shall  have, 

My  good  swerde  of  Ameaunt,1 

For  therwith  I  slewe  a  Gyaunt. 

I  brake  the  poynt  in  his  head, 

And  in  the  felde  I  it  leved  ; 

Dame,  take  it  up,  lo,  it  is  here, 

For  thou  spekest  not  with  me  this  many  a  yere, 

And  yet  peraventure  tyme  may  come 

That  I  may  speke  with  my  sonne, 

And  by  this  sworde  I  maye  him  ken. 

Thus  saying,  he  kissed  and  left  her,  and  she,  dazed  and 
weeping,  wandered  about,  carrying  the  sword,  until  she 
met  with  her  retinue.  Concealing  the  sword  in  her  robe, 
she  awoke  them,  and  they  once  more  went  on  their  way, 
this  time  meeting  many  a  knight  spurring  in  hot  haste, 
sent  by  the  king  in  quest  of  them,  and  they  proceeded  to 
the  abbey  to  attend  the  memorial  service  to  her  mother. 

Time  went  on,  and  she  could  no  longer  conceal  her 
position  from  herself,  and,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  she 
took  one  of  her  maidens  into  her  confidence,  and  told  her 
all  her  history.  With  her  connivance,  the  princess's  son 
was  born  without  any  one  else  being  the  wiser,  and  the 
next  thing  was,  how  to  get  rid  of  the  child.  The  maid 
wrapped  it  well  in  clothes,  laid  it  in  a  cradle,  and  with  it 
placed  twenty  pounds  in  gold  and  ten  in  silver,  also 

She  put  with  him  a  payre  of  gloves, 
Her  leman  gave  her  them  in  a  stonde,2 
They  wold  els  on  no  womans  hande, 
On  childes  neither  womans  they  nolde,3 
But  on  his  mothers  handes  they  wolde, 
1  ?  Adamant.  2  Hurriedly.  3  Would  not  (go). 


io6  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

And  bad  the  chylde  no  wyfe  wed  in  lande, 

But  the  gloves  wolde  on  her  hande. 

For  they  might  serve  no  where, 

Save  the  mother  that  dyd  hym  beare. 

A  letter  with  the  chylde  put  she, 

With  the  gloves  also  perde  ; x 

She  knyt  the  letter  with  a  threde, 

About  his  necke  a  full  good  spede, 

Then  was  in  the  letter  wrytte, 

Whoso  it  founde  shulde  it  wytte,2 

For  Christes  love  if  anye  good  man, 

This  wofull  chylde  fynde  can, 

Do  him 3  be  christened  of  priestes  hande, 

And  to  helpe  hym  to  lyve  in  lande, 

With  this  sylver  that  is  here, 

Tyll  he  may  armes  bere, 

And  helpe  hym  with  his  owne  good, 

For  he  is  come  of  gentyll  bloud. 

And,  having  thus  carefully  fitted  out  the  infant  for  a 
foundling's  career,  she  waited  until  the  evening,  and  then 
stole  out,  she  knew  not  whither,  with  the  child. 

Through  thicke  and  thyn  in  the  brere,4 
She  went  all  the  wynter  nyght, 
By  shyning  of  the  mone  light. 

At  length  she  reached  a  hermitage,  and  seeing  the 
advantage  of  providing  the  solitary  with  a  companion,  she 
laid  the  cradle  at  the  door,  and  hied  back  home.  In  the 
morning  the  hermit  found  the  babe,  and 

He  lyft  up  the  shete  anone, 

And  loked  upon  the  lytel  grome,5 

Than  helde  up  his  ryght  honde, 

And  thanked  Jesus  Christ  of  his  fonde.6 
1  Par  dieu,  or  par  de.  2  Know.  3  Let  him,  &c. 

4  Briar,  tangled  underwood.      5  Man.  6  Kindness. 


SIR  DEGORE.  I07 

He  bare  the  childe  into  the  chapel, 

For  joye  of  him  he  ronge  the  bel. 

And  layed  up  the  gloves  and  the  treasure, 

And  christened  the  childe  with  great  honour, 

And  in  the  worshipe  of  the  Trinite. 

He  called  the  childes  name  Degore,1  ^ 

For  degore  to  understande  it  is 

But  thynge  that  almost  lost  iwys, 

As  thinge  that  almost  ago, 

Therfore  he  called  that  chylde  so. 

But  whatever  might  be  the  holy  man's  joy,  he  found 
he  had  got  something  beyond  his  power  to  cope  with ;  so 
he  sent  Degore  to  a  married  sister  of  his,  and  she  and  her 
husband  looked  upon  him  as  if  he  had  been  their  own,  and 
kept  him  for  ten  years,  by  which  time  he  had  grown  a 
comely  lad,  well  taught,  and  of  a  kindly  disposition  ;  so 
that  nothing  was  left  to  be  desired.  He  was  then  too  old 
for  apron  strings,  so  they  sent  him  back  to  the  hermit,  who 
"  taught  the  childe  of  clerkes  lore  "  for  another  ten  years. 

He  was  now  twenty  years  old,  tall,  well  built,  and  very 
strong  ;  in  fact,  especially  so  for  his  years.  So  that  when 
the  hermit  found  him  fitted  physically,  by  his  strength,  and 
mentally,  by  his  learning,  for  the  battle  of  life,  he  looked 
up  the  money,  gloves,  and  letter  that  had  accompanied 
the  babe,  and,  having  deducted  the  ten  pounds  in  silver  for 
his  support  and  education,  he  gave  him  the  remainder. 
Naturally  the  young  man  burned  to  find  his  father,  and 

1  In  a  MS.  copy  of  this  Romance  it  is  spelt  Degare,  which  probably  may 
mean  the  modern  Vegare—  led  astray,  or  lost — which  will  reconcile  it  with  the 
text. 


io8  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

would  not  be  contented  except  that  he  set  out  on  his  quest 
at  once.  So,  taking  only  half  his  gold,  he  left  the  other 
in  the  charge  of  the  good  hermit,  who  advised  him  to  buy 
a  good  horse  and  armour.  But  the  youth  would  only  take 
a  "  batte,"  or  club,  made  of  a  good  oak  sapling,  with 
which  he  could  beat  to  the  ground  a  good  man  well  armed. 
In  those  days  an  idle  man  in  search  of  a  job  in  the 
adventure  line  was  never  long  without  meeting  with  one. 
So  on  his  first  day,  in  the  afternoon,  whilst  journeying 
through  a  forest,  he  heard  the  sound  of  mighty  strokes. 
Going  to  the  place  whence  they  proceeded — 

There  was  an  Erie  both  stout  and  gave, 
He  was  come  theyther  the  same  daye 
For  to  hunt  a  dere  or  a  do, 
But  his  hotmdes  were  gone  hym  fro. 
Then  was  there  a  Dragon  great  and  grymme, 
Full  of  fyre  and  also  venymme, 
Wyth  a  wyde  throte  and  tuskes  greate, 
Upon  that  knight  faste  gan  he  bete  ; 
And  as  a  Lyon  then  was  hys  feete, 
His  tayle  was  longe  and  full  unmete  ; l 
Between  hys  head  and  his  tayle 
Was  wii  fote  withouten  fayle  ; 
His  body  was  lyke  a  wyne  tonne, 
He  shone  full  bryght  agaynste  the  sonne ; 
His  eyen  were  bright  as  any  glasse, 
His  scales  were  harde  as  any  brasse, 
-And  therto  he  was  necked  lyke  a  horse  ; 
He  bare  his  head  up  with  great  force  ; 
The  breth  of  his  mouth  that  dyd  out  blowe 
As  it  had  bene  a  fyre  on  lowe  ; 2 
He  was  to  loke  on  as  I  you  tell 
As  it  had  bene  a  fiende  of  hell. 
1  Unmeasured.  2  Burning  brightly. 


SfR  DEGORE.  109 

The  earl  was  getting  weary  of  the  strife,  and  prayed 
Degore's  help  for  the  sake  of  "saynt  charite."  It  was 
willingly  accorded  ;  and,  as  the  dragon  began  to  feel  on 
his  ribs  the  effects  of  an  oak  sapling,  skilfully  and  strongly 
applied,  he  turned  his  attention  to  the  quarter  whence  the 
annoyance  proceeded.  The  dragon  was  pounded  and 
bruised,  but,  as  dragons  will  not  submit  to  such  treatment 
with  meekness,  it  used  its  tail  with  such  effect  that  he 
knocked  Degore  down.  Quickly  recovering,  he  redoubled 
his  attentions  to  the  dragon,  and,  having  reduced  its  ribs 
to  a  jelly,  and  broken  its  legs,  he  finished  up  by  dashing 
its  brains  out. 

Very  grateful  was  the  earl  for  the  timely  succour,  and 
he  made  Degore  accompany  him  to  his  palace,  where,  in 
addition  to  hospitable  treatment,  he  dubbed  him  a  knight, 
and  fain  would  have  given  him  "  rentes,  treasure,  and 
halfe  his  lande."  But  Degore  would  have  none  of  them  ; 
he  only  asked  that  the  ladies  of  the  establishment  might 
be  summoned  and  try  on  his  gloves  :  if  they  fitted  one  of 
them,  he  would  stay ;  if  not,  he  would  take  his  leave. 
We  who  are  behind  the  scenes  know  the  result — they 
would  fit  no  one  ;  but  the  earl  would  not  let  Degore  go 
away  empty,  so  gave  him  a  good  steed  and  a  suit  of 
armour,  a  page,  and  a  hackney  for  him  to  ride. 

Thankfully  he  accepted  these  presents,  and  joyfully 
went  on  his  way,  which  led  him  towards  his  grandfather's 
dominions. 


no  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Seeing  many  people,  he  stopped  an  esquire  and  asked 
him  the  reason  for  this  assemblage.  He  was  told  that  the 
king  was  holding  a  joust,  the  prize  of  which  was  to  be 
his  daughter's  hand,  if  any  knight  could  lift  the  king  out 
of  his  saddle  and  both  stirrups.  The  esquire  detailed  very 
graphically  the  fate  of  the  competitors. 

For  every  man  that  rydeth  to  hym 

He  beteth  them  with  strokes  grym ; 

Some  he  breaketh  the  necke  anone, 

Of  some  he  cracketh  both  backe  and  bone, 

Some  through  the  body  he  glytte,1 

And  some  to  death  he  smytte. 

But  to  a  young  man  who  at  the  very  outset  of  his  career 
had  slain  a  dragon,  this  description  would  hardly  act  as  a 
deterrent.  He  knew  himself  to  be  very  strong,  and  he 
argued  thus  : 

I  am  in  my  yonge  bloud, 
And  I  have  horse  and  armure  good, 
And,  as  I  trowe,  a  full  good  steede, 
I  will  assaye  if  I  maye  spede, 
And  I  maye  beare  the  kinge  downe, 
I  maye  be  a  man  of  great  renowne. 

Thus  revolving  in  his  mind,  he  sought  an  inn,  where  he 
rested  and  enjoyed  himself;  until  one  day  he  met  the 
king,  and,  kneeling  before  him,  he  told  him  that  his  lord 
had  sent  him  to  warn  his  Majesty  that  he  was  coming  to 
joust  with  him  ;  and  the  king  made  answer  that  any  one 
coming  on  that  errand  was  welcome. 

1  Literally,  glides,  slips  through. 


SfK  DEGORE.  in 

Be  he  knyght  or  barowne, 
Erie,  duke,  or  churle  in  towne. 

The  jousts  were  fixed  for  the  morrow,  and  Degore,  fancy- 
ing that  he  had  by  no  means  an  easy  task,  and  probably 
being  influenced  by  his  education,  went  to  church  and 
heard  a  mass  to  the  Trinity,  making  an  offering  of  a 
florin  to  each  of  the  three  persons,  the  priest  specially 
praying  for  him.  Then  he  went  to  his  inn,  armed  himself, 
bestrode  his  good  steed,  and  took  his  lance,  his  squire  follow- 
ing with  another ;  and  when  he  arrived  at  the  place  of  tourney 
he  was  the  admired  of  all  beholders,  who  had  never  seen 
so  fair  a  knight  come  on  such  an  errand. 

The  joust  began,  and  the  king  having  the  longer  spear, 
struck  Degore  full  on  the  shield  ;  but,  to  his  astonishment, 
his  adversary  sat  fast  and  safe  in  his  saddle.  At  this  the 
king  knew  he  had  somebody  out  of  the  common  way  to 
deal  with,  and,  taking  a  yet  longer  spear  at  the  next 
assault,  struck  Degore  full  on  the  breast,  so  that  his  horse 
reared  on  high,  and  he  was  nearly  thrown ;  but  he  rode  out 
his  course.  This  fired  Degore's  blood  ;  twice  had  he  been 
smitten,  and  yet  he  had  not  touched  the  king ;  next  time 
he  must  do  better,  and  once  more  the  destriers  charged, 
and  a  splendid  joust  ensued.  Fair  on  each  other's  shield, 
were  the  lances  planted,  but  the  impetus  was  so  great  that 
both  were  shattered  and  splintered. 

And  then  the  kynge  began  to  speake, 
Gyve  me  a  speare  that  wyll  not  breke, 


1 1 2  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALR  K 

For  he  shall  anone  be  smitten  downe, 
Though  he  be  as  stronge  as  Sampsone  ; 
And  if  he  be  the  Devyll  of  hell 
I  shall  him  soone  downe  fell. 

But  this  time  the  king's  cunning  forsook  him,  whilst 
Sir  Degore's  lance  hit  him  fairly.  Alas  !  both  horse  and 
rider  were  rolling  in  the  lists,  the  royal  conditions  being 
fairly  fulfilled. 

Great  commotion  followed  the  king's  overthrow,  and 
even  the  fair  prize  trembled  as  she  thought  she  must  now 
be  married,  and  to  a  knight  from  a  strange  country,  whose 
very  name  was  unknown.  The  king  held  to  his  royal 
word,  and  greeted  his  conqueror  kindly,  saying  that  if  his 
birth  conformed  to  his  appearance  and  deeds,  he  should 
think  him  a  fitting  successor  to  his  land ;  meanwhile  he 
gave  him  his  daughter,  and  yielded  to  him  his  realm. 
Then  and  there  was  the  marriage  ceremony  performed, 
and  so  it  came  to  pass  that  Degore  married  (unwittingly 
to  both  parties)  his  MOTHER. 

Great  feasting  ensued,  and  night  was  drawing  nigh  when 
Sir  Degore  bethought  him  that  he  ought  never  to  wed 
any  woman  until  she  had  tried  on  the  magic  gloves,  and 
in  the  heaviness  of  his  heart  wished  aloud  that  he  had 
never  been  born,  and  that  he  were  well  out  of  the  place. 
The  king  inquired  why,  and  then  Degore  told  him  how 
that  he  had  done  wrong  in  marrying  without  first  subject- 
ing his  bride  to  a  trial  of  his  gloves. 


SIR  DEGORE.  II3 

And  when  the  Lady  gan  this  here 
Anone  she  chaunged  all  her  chere, 
And  all  together  tourned  her  mode  ; 
Her  vysage  waxed  red  as  any  bloude, 
She  knewe  that  the  Gloves  longed  to  her, 
And  sayd,  geve  me  the  Gloves,  fayre  Syr. 
She  toke  the  Gloves  in  that  slede, 
And  lyghtly  upon  her  handes  them  did  ; 
She  fell  downe  and  began  to  crye, 
And  sayd,  Lorde  God,  I  aske  mercy ; 
I  am  thy  mother  that  dyd  thee  here, 
And  thou  arte  myne  owne  sonne  dere. 

There  was  no  questioning  the  truth  of  the  assertion  ; 
mother  and  son  were  locked  in  each  other's  arms,  fondly 
kissing  and  embracing.  The  king  looked  on  astonished, 
and  naturally  asked  his  daughter  for  an  explanation, 
which  she  gave  fully  and  unreservedly.  Sir  Degore  asked 
his  mother  if  she  knew  of  his  father's  whereabouts,  but 
she  had  never  seen  him  since  their  one  fatal  meeting  ;  but 
she  gave  Degore  the  sole  token  she  had  of  him,  the  point- 
less sword  he  had  given  her,  together  with  his  message 
that  she  was  to  keep  it  for  their  son,  until  the  time  that  he 
had  grown  to  man's  estate.  Sir  Degore  eyed  the  blade 
critically,  saying  that  he  who  had  owned  it  must  have  been 
a  man ;  but  he  registered  a  vow  that  he  would  neither 
sleep  night  nor  day  until  he  had  found  his  father,  if  that  he 
were  in  Christendom. 

So  the  next  morning,  after  hearing  mass,  he  set  forth  on 
his  quest,attended  only  by  his  page — for  he  refused  his  grand- 
father's offer  of  some  knights  to  accompany  him — not  know- 

9 


ii4  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

ing  whither  he  was  going,  only  ever  riding  westward,  until  he 
came  to  a  forest  and  it  was  nigh  nightfall.  The  sun  was 
down,  and  no  town  was  near,  when  the  knight  espied  a 
castle,  to  which  he  sent  his  page  to  ask  a  night's  lodging 
"  for  charyte."  On  this,  the  drawbridge  fell,  the  gate  stood 
open,  and  they  entered.  Like  good  cavaliers,  their  first 
thou  grits  were  for  their  horses,  and,  finding  plenty  of  corn 
and  hay,  they  left  them  comfortable.  They  then  went  in 
search  of  human  beings,  but,  although  they  roamed  about 
and  called  out,  they  found  none  ;  but  in  the  midst  of  the 
hall  was  a  great  fire.  This  looked,  undoubtedly,  as  if  the 
castle  were  inhabited,  and,  determining  to  wait  until  some 
one  should  come,  Sir  Degore  sat  himself  on  the  dai's,  and 
made  himself  comfortable. 

His  patience  was  rewarded,  for  a  lady  and  three  maidens 
appeared,  dressed  as  Diana  for  the  chase — 

.  .  .  fayre  and  free, 
That  were  trussed  up  to  the  kne. 

Two  had  bows,  and  two  bore  venison,  and  Sir  Degore 
court  eously  stood  up  and  blessed  them  ;  but  they  took  no 
heed,  and  spoke  not  to  him,  but  entered  into  a  chamber, 
shuttin  g  the  door  after  them.  Soon  after,  however,  came 
into  the  hall  a  dwarf,  four  feet  high,  who  had  a  large 
head,  with  yellow  hair,  and  a  milk-white  face.  He  was 
dressed  in  a  green  surcoat,  edged  with  black  and  white 
fur,  and  was  well  clad,  his  shoes  being  fashionably  turned 


SIR  DEGORE.  u5 

up  at  the  toes.  Sir  Degore  bowed  courteously  to  him,  yet 
the  dwarf  spoke  no  word,  but  began  to  furnish  the  board 
with  a  cloth  and  bread  and  wine.  He  lit  torches  in  the 
hall,  and  made  all  things  ready  for  supper. 

Shortly  afterwards  there  came  from  her  bower  a  lady 
accompanied  by  fifteen  damsels,  some  in  red,  and  some  in 
green.  None  of  them  took  any  heed  of  Sir  Degore,  but 
went  and  washed  their  hands,  and  then  sat  down  to  supper 
— the  lady  on  the  dai's,  five  maidens  on  each  side  the  table 
and  five  at  the  bottom.  Sir  Degore  was  determined  to 
make  them  speak  if  he  could,  so  he  went  and  sat  before 
the  lady,  and  commenced  to  eat ;  but  little  food  passed  his 
lips,  as  he  was  so  entranced  by  the  beauty  of  the  lady. 
Supper  over,  the  dwarf  brought  water ;  they  all  washed 
their  hands,  and  left  the  hall  for  their  private  apartments. 
But  Degore  could  not  stay  after  they  had  gone.  He 
followed  the  lady,  being  determined  to  gaze  his  fill  upon 
her  lovely  countenance,  and  found  her  sitting  upon  her 
bed,  playing  the  harp.  Sir  Degore  sat  him  down  and 
listened  to  the  delicious  music,  which  had  such  an  effect 
upon  him  that  he  laid  down  and  fell  asleep,  the  lady 
kindly  covering  him  ere  she  went  to  some  other  bed- 
chamber. 

In  the  morning  she  came  and  called  him,  twitting  him 
with  his  heavy  slumber,  and  his  discourtesy  in  going  to 
sleep,  instead  of  enjoying  the  company  of  herself  and  her 
maids.  The  knight  begged  forgiveness,  and  laid  the  blame 


1 1 6  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALR  Y. 

on  the  soft  music,  or  else  the  good  wine  he  had  drunk  ;  and 
then  he  naturally  inquired  about  his  host  or  hostess. 

But,  tel  me  nowe,  my  Lady  hende, 
Or  I  out  of  this  chambre  wende, 
Who  hath  this  castel  in  his  hande, 
And  who  is  lorde  of  this  lande  ; 
Whether  that  ye  be  mayden  or  wyfe, 
And  in  what  maner  ye  lede  your  lyfe, 
And  why  you  have  so  many  women 
Alone  withoute  any  men  ? 

Her  story  was  soon  told  :  her  father  was  a  baron,  who 
owned  the  castle  and  town,  she  was  his  only  child,  and, 
after  his  death,  his  heir.  Many  a  knight  had  sought  her  in 
marriage,  but  a  hideous  giant,  whom  it  was  impossible  she 
could  love,  was  enamoured  of  her,  and  had  disposed  not 
only  of  her  suitors,  by  the  simple  process  of  killing  them, 
but  also  of  all  her  men  folk,  save  and  except  the  dwarf  who 
had  laid  the  supper.  So  saying,  she  fell  down  in  a  swoon. 
Her  damoiselles  attended  to  her,  and  when  she  recovered 
she  gave  Sir  Degore  such  a  look,  that  he  would  have  been 
more  than  mortal,  and  less  than  knight,  had  he  not  answered 
her  that  he  would  help  her  with  all  his  power.  Her  gratitude 
was  such  that  she  offered  him  herself  and  all  her  land  in 
case  of  victory. 

Degore  was  longing  for  the  fight ;  nor  had  he  long  to 
wait,  for  the  giant  was  approaching.  Hastily  he  armed 
and  sallied  forth.  They  met  with  so  great  a  crash  that 
their  spears  were  splintered,  and  Sir  Degore's  horse  having 


SIX  DEGORE. 


117 


)een  killed  by  the  shock,  he  fell  to  the  ground.  He,  how- 
jver,  was  not  hurt,  for  he  sprang  to  his  feet  laughing,  and 
Irew  his  sword.  The  giant  proved  more  courteous  than 

ie  generality  of  his  kind,  and,  scorning  to  be  mounted 
^hilst  his  adversary  was  on  foot,  he  dismounted,  in  order 

lat  the  combat  might   be   fought   on   somewhat   of  an 

quality.  It  was  continued  with  somewhat  varied  success, 
intil  Degore  smote  such  a  blow  that  he  shore  the  giant's 
telm  and  basinet,  and  divided  his  head.  Even  giants 
mot  survive  such  hurts,  and  this  one  gave  up  the  ghost. 

The  lady,  sitting  in  her  castle,  had  seen  the  combat,  and 
rhen 

Syr  Degore'  came  to  the  castel, 

And  against  hym  came  that  damesel, 

She  thanked  hym  of  his  good  deede, 

And  to  her  chamber  she  dyd  him  leade  ; 

She  set  hym  on  her  bedde  anone, 

And  unarmed  hym  full  sone ; 

She  toke  hym  in  her  armes  two, 

And  kyssed  hym  a  hundred  tymes  and  mo, 

And  sayde  all  my  goods  I  wyll  the  geve, 

And  my  bodye  while  I  lyve. 

But  Sir  Degore  had  to  explain  that  he  had  set  out  with 
a  fixed  purpose,  and  that  this  giant-slaying  was  but  an 
interlude.  He  had  to  go  to  a  far  country,  but  that  at  the 
end  of  twelve  months  he  would  return  to  her,  and  in  the 
meantime  he  committed  her  to  the  keeping  of  the  Almighty. 
The  fair  one  wept  at  his  departure,  but  he  was  inexorable 
and  set  out  on  his  journey. 


ti8  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Long  rode  he,  ever  going  westward,  until  in  a  forest  he 
met  a  knight  arrayed  in  superb  armour,  richly  ornamented 
with  gold  and  azure,  bearing  as  his  arms  three  boars' 
heads.  He  asked  Sir  Degore  what  he  was  doing  in  his 
forest  slaying  his  deer.  Degore  denied  the  imputation, 
saying  that  he  was  an  adventurous  knight  going  to  seek 
wars  and  fighting.  The  stranger  knight  evidently  took  this 
to  mean  an  invitation  to  combat,  and  in  that  light  it  was  at 
once  accepted.  With  lances  couched  they  met,  but  that  of 
Sir  Degore  being  the  longest,  he  smote  the  stranger  knight 
full  upon  the  shield,  so  that  his  lance  splintered  ;  but  the 
knight  sat  fast  in  his  saddle.  Taking  each  a  fresh  lance, 
they  once  more  met,  and  this  time  with  such  force  that 
both  their  horses  were  killed. 

Then  they  fought  on  foot  ;  but  ere  long  the  stranger 
noticed  that  Sir  Degore's  sword  was  pointless,  and,  calling 
out  for  a  short  truce,  breathlessly  asked  where  was  he  born, 
and  in  what  land  ? 

Syr,  he  sayd,  in  England, 
A  kynges  doughter  is  my  mother, 
But  I  wot  not  who  is  my  father. 
What  is  thy  name,  then  sayd  he, 
Syr,  my  name  is  Degore'. 
Sir  Degore'  thou  art  welcome, 
For  wel  I  wote  thou  art  my  sonne  ; 
By  this  swerde  I  know  the  here  ; 
The  point  is  in  my  pautenere.1 
He  took  the  poynt  and  sette  it  to, 
And  they  accorded  bothe  two. 

1  A  purse,  or  pocket. 


DEGORE.  up 

At  this  convincing  proof  of  paternity,  the  father  and 
son  embraced,  nothing  doubting,  and  set  out  in  company 
for  England,  which  they  reached  in  safety,  and  at  once  rode 
to  the  king's  palace.  Degord's  mother  saw  them  coming. 

And  when  the  ladye  sawe  that  syght, 
She  went  to  them  with  all  her  myght ; 
And  ryght  well  she  them  knewe, 
And  then  she  chaunged  all  her  hewe, 
And  sayd  my  dere  sonne  Degore, 
Thou  hast  thy  father  brought  with  thee. 

The  strange  knight  owned  to  the  fact.  The  king  rejoiced 
in  the  truth  of  his  daughter's  story.  She  and  the  krjight 
were  married,  and  then  Sir  Degore  and  his  father  set  out 
to  visit  the  lady,  whom  he  had  defended  from  the  giant. 
They  were  wedded  with  great  solemnity,  and  everybody, 
for  ever  after,  was  happy. 

"  Thus  endeth  the  tretyse  of  Syr  Degore." 


Sir  Be\>is  of  Ibampton* 

OF  this  Romance  I  can  find  no  MS.  in  the  British 
Museum,  but  it  was  an  especial  pet  of  the  early 
Italian  Printers,  there  being  many  editions  in 
different  Italian  cities  in  the  early  sixteenth  century,  and 
one  was  printed  as  early  as  1497  at  Bologna.  Buovo  de 
Antona  de  Guidone  Palladius  Rezunto  et  revisto.  Caligula 
di  Bazalieri.  Ebert  quotes  two  early  French  editions, 
one — Le  livre  de  Beufoes  de  Hantonne  et  de  la  Belle 
Josienne  sa  mye.  Par  Verard.  But  to  this  there  is  no 
date  ;  it  was  probably  earlier  than  the  Beufnes  DantJionnc 
nouvellement  imprinte"  a  Paris.  Par  le  Noir.  1502. 

Of  English  copies,  there  is  one  in  the  Bodleian  Library, 
printed  by  Pynson ;  and  Hazlitt  says  a  fragment  of  two 
leaves,  printed  by  Wynkyn  de  Worde,  is  in  existence. 
The  copy  from  which  I  have  taken  the  Romance  is  printed 
by  Copland,  and  the  British  Museum  gives  an  approxi- 
mate date  of  1550. 

M.    Amaury    Duval,  in    his    Histoire    Litteraire   de  la 


f22  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

France,  vol.  xviii.  p.  749,  tries  to  show  that  this  Romance 
was  of  French  extraction,  and  that  the  Anton  from  which 
Sir  Bevis  derived  his  name  was  Antonne,  a  town  in 
France.  But  when  we  consider  that  the  River  Anton,  or 
Test,  flows  by  Southampton,  that  there  is  a  Bevois  Mount 
where  he  is  supposed  to  be  buried,  and  that  the  Bar  Gate 
is  ornamented  with  paintings  of  both  Bevis  and  Ascaparte, 
we  cannot  yield  our  hero  to  the  French. 

Sir  Bevis  of  Hampton  had  for  father  the  famous  Earl 
of  Southampton — Sir  Guy,  who,  the  chronicler  informs  us, 
lived  in  the  time  of  King  Edgar.  When  he  was  young, 
Sir  Guy  was  a  very  paladin,  and  his  prowess  was  known 
throughout  the  civilized  world. 

In  every  land  he  rode  and  yede,1 

For  to  wynne  him  price  and  mede  :  2 

In  Fraunce,  in  Flaunders,  and  in  Almaine  ; 3 

In  Brabant,  in  Cecele,4  and  in  Britayne  ; 5 

In  Denmarke,  Calyce,6  and  in  Gasconne  ; 

In  Hungary,  Calabre,7  and  in  Burgoyne  ; 

In  Pole,  in  Normandy,  and  in  Mayne  ; 

In  Turkye,  Nabrant,8  and  in  Spayne  ; 

In  Eastland,9  Norway,  and  in  Picardye  ; 

In  Scotland,  in  Wales,  and  in  Lumbardye  ; 

In  Christendome,  and  also  in  heathenesse, 

Full  well  is  known  Sir  Guyes  worthinesse. 

*  *  #  *  -}'  -:- 

Whyle  he  was  younge  and  jolye, 

Wolde  Syr  Guy  weed  no  wyfe  ; 

But  whan  that  he  was  olde, 

He  waxed  feble,  croked  and  colde, 

Than  toke  he  his  leve  of  chevalry. 

1  Went.     2  Prize  and  reward.     3  Germany.     4  Sicily.     5  Brittany. 
6  Calais.         7  Calabria.         8  Tartary.  9  Muscovy,  or  Russia. 


BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  123 

Then,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  seems  to  have 
thought  of  matrimony,  and  his  choice  fell  upon  the 
daughter  of  the  King  of  Scotland,  who  was  not  only  much 
younger  than  he,  but  was  in  love  with  Sir  Murdure,  the 
brother  of  the  Emperor  of  Almaine.  However,  in  those 
days,  young  ladies  had  to  obey  the  will  of  their  parents. 
So  these  two  made  a  mariage  de  convenance,  and  the  fruit 
of  their  union  was  Sir  Bevis. 

But,  as  time  went  on,  and  Bevis  grew  into  boyhood,  the 
difference  of  age  between  the  married  couple  became  more 
apparent  ;  Sir  Guy,  his  wife  complained,  "  All  day  he 
hideth  in  the  churche,"  and  she  longed  for  the  more 
ardent  companionship  of  her  young  lover.  The  perpetual 
brooding  on  her  wasted  life  first  tempted  her,  and  then  led 
her,  into  sin.  She  procured  a  pliant  and  trusty  messenger, 
and  gave  him  the  following  instructions  : 

Go,  she  sayde,  to  Almayne, 

And  grete  well  fro  me  Syr  Murdure, 

Brother  to  the  Emperoure, 

And  byd  him  in  the  fyrst  daye 

Of  the  moneth  of  Maye, 

That  he  in  the  foreste  be, 

Well  armed  with  his  meine  ; T 

Byd  him  that  it  be  not  lened,2 

But  that  my  lorde  be  there  heded  ; 3 

And  sende  it  me  to 4  a  present, 

My  lorde  shall  naked  5  to  him  be  sent. 

This  cruel  message  was  duly  delivered,  and,  on  the 
appointed  day,  Sir  Murdure  and  his  men  lay  in  ambush  in 

1  Company.          2  Behind  hand.          3  Beheaded.          4  As.          5  Unarmed. 


124 


ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 


the  forest  near  Hampton.  The  wicked  wife  feigned  sick- 
ness, which  she  declared  could  only  be  cured  by  eating 
wild  boar's  flesh.  Sir  Guy  immediately  promised  that  he 


SIR   GUY   TRAITOROUSLY    SLAIN    BY    SIR    MURDURE. 

would  procure  some  for  her,  and,  accompanied  by  his 
followers,  unsuspectingly  entered  the  wood,  where  he  soon 
encountered  Sir  Murdure. 

This  false  knight  made  no  scruple  of  openly  telling  Sir 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  125 

Guy  of  the  errand  he  had  come  on,  and  the  old  knight  put 
himself  on  the  defensive.  He  performed  prodigies  of 
valour.  He  wounded  the  traitorous  Sir  Murdure,  and, 
with  his  own  hands,  killed  a  hundred  of  his  foes  ;  but, 
alas !  his  horse  was  slain,  and  he  was  brought  to  the 
ground.  The  sad  fate  of  the  poor  old  man  is  graphically 
told. 

<«_ 

Than  kneled  Guy  to  Syr  Murdure, 

And  said  marcy  and  succoure ; 

And  sayde  Murdure  for  thy  gentry,1 

Thus  cowardly  let  me  not  dye.  _ 

But  lend  me  horse,  armoure,  and  sheld, 

And  let  me  dye  here  in  the  felde ; 

And  with  thee  that  I  do  so, 

I  thee  forgyve  and  thou  me  slo  ; 2 

Than  cried  they  all  in  this  wyse, 

Sle 2  him  that  he  never  ryse. 

With  that  syr  Murdure  to  hym  yede, 

And  smote  there  of  his  head. 

To  a  knight  he  toke  his  hede  in  hande, 

Go  he  sayd,  and  bare  this  fonde  3 

To  the  countesse  that  is  so  bright, 

And  say  I  come  to  her  boure  this  night. 


At  this  time  Sir  Bevis  was  but  a  child — seven  years  of 
age — but  he  appears  to  have  had  knowledge  beyond  his 
years,  and,  when  he  heard  of  the  treacherous  death  of  his 
father,  and  of  his  mother's  shameless  sin,  he  went  to  her, 
upbraided  her  with  her  conduct,  and  swore  that,  if  he  ever 
bore  arms,  he  would  avenge  his  father  with  might  and 
main.  His  mother  smote  him  to  the  ground,  and  com- 

1  An  appeal  to  his  birth  and  breeding.          2  Slew.          3  Token  of  affection. 


1 2 6  ROMANCES  OF  CHI VALR  Y. 

man  ded  his  uncle  (his  father's  brother),  Sir  Sabere,  to  slay 
him.  Possibly  it  was  policy  on  Sir  Sabere's  part  to 
temporize  with  the  dominant  party,  and  he  promised 
compliance.  But  instead  of  killing  the  boy,  he  victimized 
a  pig,  and,  sprinkling  Bevis's  clothes  with  its  blood,  he 
sh  owed  them  as  evidence  of  his  having  done  the  behests  of 
the  wicked  Countess.  As  to  the  young  Bevis,  he  clothed 
him  in  mean  attire,  and  set  him  to  tend  sheep,  promising 
to  send  him  to  Wales,  where  dwelt  an  Earl,  who  was  a  re- 
lation, and  who  would  train  him  to  arms  as  soon  as  he  was 
old  enough  to  bear  them,  when  he  might  avenge  his  father. 

Whilst  engaged  in  the  lowly  occupation  of  herdboy,  he 
heard  trumpets  and  tabors,  and  the  sound  of  the  festivities 
in  which  the  sinful  pair  were  indulging,  and  he  could  not 
control  his  indignation  when  he  thought  upon  his  father's 
death,  and  contrasted  his  own  sad  plight  with  that  of  the 
guilty  ones.  His  wrath  overcame  his  prudence,  and  he 
went  straight  to  the  castle,  where  the  porter  refused  him 
admittance,  but  Bevis  knocked  his  brains  out,  and  went 
into  the  hall,  where  he  addressed  his  mother,  and  Sir 
Murdure,  in  language  more  forcible  than  polite,  and,, 
finally,  smote  the  evil  knight  so  that  he  swooned.  The 
knights,  who  were  feasting,  seemed  to  have  sympathized 
with  the  boy,  for  they  let  him  pass,  and  he  went  home  to- 
Sir  Sabere,  who  was  sorely  puzzled  what  to  do  with  him,, 
and,  as  a  temporary  measure,  hid  him  in  a  chamber. 

Scarcely  was  he  concealed,  when  the  Countess  arrived 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  1 2  7 

in  a  furious  state  of  mind,  vowing  that  Sir  Sabere  should 
su  ffer  for  his  nephew's  conduct.  Bevis,  hearing  this,  came 
from  his  hiding  -  place,  and  confronted  his  unnatural 
mother.  The  sight  of  the  boy  seems  to  have  roused  her 
to  ungovernable  fury,  and  she  commanded  Sir  Sabere,  and 
another  knight,  to  take  him  and  cast  him  into  the  sea. 
This  they  promised  to  do,  but  compromised  the  matter, 
and  salved  their  consciences  by  selling  him  to  the  Paynims, 
whose  ships  were  at  the  sea  shore  for  trading  purposes. 
By  them  he  was  carried  to  the  land  of  Armony,  or 
Armenia,  then  governed  by  a  king  called  Ermine,  who 
had  a  daughter  ;  and,  as  we  shall  hear  a  great  deal  of  this 
lady  in  the  course  of  the  story,  it  will  be  as  well  to  give 
her  description,  as  the  chronicler's  exposition  of  his  ideal 
of  feminine  perfection. 

He  had  a  doughter  fayre  and  bryght, 
Josian  that  fayre  mayde  hight  ; T 
Her  visage  was  whight  as  lylly  floure, 
Therin  ranne  the  rede  coloure, 
With  bright  browes  and  eyes  shene,2 
With  heare  as  gold  wire  on  the  grene  ; 
With  comly  nose  and  lyppes  swete, 
With  lovely  mouth  and  fayre  fete, 
With  tethe  white  and  even  sette  ; 
Her  handes  3  were  swete  as  vyolet, 
With  gentill  body  withouten  lacke, 
WTell  shapen  both  belly  and  backe  ; 
With  smale  handes  and  fingers  longe ; 
Nothing  of  her  was  shapen  wronge, 
Wherfore  should  I  her  not  decyve, 
There  was  never  none  fayrer  on  lyve. 
1  Called.  2  Shining.  3  Breath. 


128  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

The  heathen  merchants  made  Bevis  a  present  to  the 
king,  who  was  much  struck  with  his  personal  appearance 
and  strength  ;  and,  when  the  lad  had  told  his  story,  and 
avowed  his  parentage,  the  king  remembered  Sir  Guy, 
whose  trenchant  sword  had  laid  low  many  a  Paynim  and 
Saracen. 

Bevis,  he  sayde,  I  have  no  heyre, 
But  a  doughter  that  is  fayre  ; 
And  thou  wylte  thy  lorde  forsake, 
And  to  Apolyn  z  our  god  thee  betake. 
I  shall  geve  her  to  be  thy  wyfe, 
And  all  my  lande  after  my  lyfe. 

But  nothing  could  induce  Bevis  to  change  his  religion  ; 
so  the  king  told  him  that,  whilst  he  was  young,  he  should 
be  his  chamberlain,  and  when  old  enough  to  be  dubbed  a 
knight,  he  should  bear  the  king's  banner  in  battle.  And 
so  Bevis  was  brought  up  an  universal  favourite,  but  looked 
upon  by  the  fair  Josian  with  eyes  of  love  ;  and  by  the 
time  he  was  fourteen  years  old,  he  was  the  very  paragon 
of  a  squire. 

It  was  on  a  Christmas  Day,  and  Bevis  was  riding  with 
some  sixty  Saracens,  when  one  laughingly  asked  him  if  he 
knew  what  day  it  was.  He  replied  that  he  was  but  seven 
years  old  when  he  was  sold  into  heathenesse,  and  they 
must  not  blame  him  if  he  failed  in  his  knowledge  of  that 
particular  day.  They  began  jeering  him,  and  he  did  not 
do  much  towards  keeping  the  peace,  by  declaring  that  if 

1  Apollyon. 


BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  129 

he  were  armed  he  would  joust  with  them  one  after  the 
other.  This  seems  to  have  been  more  than  the  Saracenic 
temper  could  bear,  and  they  all  set  upon  him.  Weapon- 
less, he  was  soon  wounded,  but — 

Bevis  was  light  and  quicke, 
And  to  the  Sarasyn  gan  he  lepe,1 
And  with  his  fyste  he  stroke  faste 
That  his  cheke  bone  all  to  braste.2 

Possessing  himself  of  a  Saracen's  sword,  he  smote  all 
before  him,  in  spite  of  all  their  endeavours — indeed,  he 
seems  to  have  borne  a  charmed  life  ;  and,  for  a  boy  of  four- 
teen, he  performed  prodigies  of  valour. 

Aboute  Bevis  the  Sarasyns  dyd  lepe, 
As  they  had  bene  a  flocke  of  shepe, 
Of  some  he  gan  ye  woundes  down  tere  3 
That  the  guttes  trayled  here  and  there. 
There  was  no  Sarason  that  he  hette 4 
But  his  body  asonder  he  kette  ; s 
There  myght  none  fle  by  no  syde, 
But  Bevis  made  him  to  abyde  ; 
And  Bevis  within  a  litle  stounde 6 
The  .ft.  Sarsons  had  brought  to  grounde. 

The  horses  of  the  slaughtered  Saracens  fled  home ; 
Bevis  followed  them,  and,  having  stabled  his  horse,  he 
went  into  his  chamber  and  sunk  upon  the  floor,  faint  with 
his  wounds  and  loss  of  blood.  King  Ermine  was  very 
wroth  at  the  loss  of  his  sixty  Saracens,  and  swore  he 
would  eat  no  bread  until  Bevis  were  dead  ;  but  Josian 

1  He  sprang.  ~  Smashed.  3  /.^.,  made  long  slashes. 

4  Hit.  5  Cut.  6  While. 

10 


130  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

pleaded  for  her  love,  and  suggested  that  first  of  all  Bevis's 
story  should  be  heard.  The  king  agreed,  and  Josian  sent 
two  knights  to  ask  Bevis  to  speak  with  her  ;  but,  whether  it 
was  from  the  pain  of  the  wounds,  or  that  his  blood  had 
not  yet  cooled  after  his  arduous  exertions,  he  returned  the 
very  uncourteous  message  :  "  I  wyll  not  ones  styre  of  this 
grounde,  to  speake  with  any  heathen  hounde,"  and  then  he 
gave  a  more  particular  message  to  the  two  knights,  after 
which  they  incontinently  fled. 

Unchristened  houndes,  I  rede  you,  fle, 
Or  I  your  herte  blode  shall  se. 

They  reported  Bevis's  intractable  state  of  mind  to 
Josian,  who  bade  them  come  with  her  and  fear  not ;  and, 
when  they  reached  Bevis's  chamber,  she  kissed  him  and 
raised  him  up,  and,  promising  to  cure  him  of  his  wounds, 
led  him  to  the  king,  her  father,  who,  when  he  saw  Bevis's 
thirty  wounds,  and  heard  his  version  of  the  story,  his  "  teres 
ranne  downe  plenty,"  and  he  ordered  Josian  to  exercise 
her  leech  craft  on  the  patient,  and  heal  his  wounds,  if 
possible  :  a  task  she  willingly  undertook,  and  what  with 
salves  and  drinks,  and  a  great  deal  of  kissing,  Bevis  was 
soon  made  whole. 

In  King  Ermine's  forest  was  a  fierce  wild  boar,  whose 
tusks  were  the  dread  of  all  men,  and  the  creature  was  of 
abnormal  size.  Bevis,  having  got  sound  and  strong  again, 
bethought  him  of  this  boar,  and  could  not  rest  contented 
until  he  had  tried  conclusions  with  it.  So,  early  one 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  131 

morning,  he  armed  himself,  and,  getting  on  horseback, 
set  off  on  his  adventure,  to  the  great  admiration  of  Josian, 
who  watched  him  from  a  window.  When  he  came  to  the 
wood  he  tied  up  his  horse  and  went  in  search  of  the  boar, 
blowing  his  horn  as  he  went  on  his  way  ;  but  the  boar 
heeded  not  the  horn  blowing,  and  Bevis  had  to  be  guided  to 
its  den  by  the  bones  of  men  which  the  fell  beast  had 
slain. 

When  visible,  it  was  not  a  pleasant  animal  to  look  at, 
and,  when  attacked,  proved  quite  capable  of  taking  care  of 
itself.  Bevis's  boar  spear  was  snapped  into  seven  parts  at 
the  onset,  and,  when  the  champion  laid  on  him  with  his 
sword,  it  had  no  effect. 

Bevis  thought  at  eche  dynt x 
That  he  had  smiten  upon  a  flinte. 

And  so  the  battle  waged  till  it  was  noon,  when  Bevis  was 
so  weary  he  thought  he  should  die.  The  boar,  too,  had 
had  enough  of  it,  and  was  faint  and  feeble,  so  that  it  turned 
to  the  plain,  whither  Bevis  followed  it,  and,  as  the  boar 
came  towards  him,  open-mouthed,  he  thrust  his  sword  down 
its  throat,  and  "  clove  his  herte  asonder,"  and,  cutting  off 
the  head  of  his  grisly  foe,  he  stuck  it  on  the  truncheon,  or 
broken  part  of  his  boar  spear. 

The  regular  foresters  had  hitherto  been  afraid  to  cope 
with  this  awful  beast,  but  when  they  saw  him  slain  by 
Bevis  they  were  filled  with  envy  and  hatred,  and  con- 

1  Stroke. 


I32 


ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 


spired  together  to  slay  him  and  possess  themselves  of  the 
boar's  head.  They  were  twelve  in  number,  and  all  well 
armed,  whilst  Bevis  had  but  the  truncheon  of  his  spear, 


BEVIS    FIGHTS   THE    FORESTERS. 


for  he  had  forgotten  his  sword  after  cutting  off  the  boar's 
head.  The  foresters  set  upon  him,  but,  needless  to  say, 
they  got  the  worst  of  it.  Nine  of  their  number  bit  the 


SIX  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  133 

dust,  never  to  rise  again,  whilst  the  other  three  fled  from 
his  wrath.  Bevis  remounted  the  boar's  head,  and  went  in 
triumph  towards  the  royal  residence  ;  the  whole  scene 
having  been  enacted  before  the  eyes  of  the  loving  Josian. 
King  Ermine,  when  the  boar's  head  was  presented  to  him, 
took  the  loss  of  his  foresters  in  good  part,  admiring  the 
prowess  of  Bevis. 

In   those   days   one  adventure  trod  upon   the  heels  of 

another. 

Sone  after,  not  long  during, 
Came  a  messenger  to  Ermine  ye  king 
For1  Kynge  Bradmounde  of  Damas,2 
That  swore  by  Mahounde  and  Golyas, 
But 3  of  King  Ermine  blive  4 
Sende  Josian  to  be  his  wyfe, 
In  all  waies  he  would  him  noie,5 
And  all  his  land  robbe  and  destroye, 
And  sayde  in  the  fyrst  day  of  Maye 
He  shoulde  come  and  holde  his  daye, 
And  send  away  his  doughter  then, 
And  his  landes  destroye  and  brenne. 

King  Ermine  was  naturally  wroth,  and  sent  for  his  earls 
and  barons,  but  Josian  could  not  refrain  from  recom- 
mending Bevis,  and  told  the  king  how  valuable  would  be 
the  assistance  of  his  arm,  if  he  were  dubbed  a  knight,  and 
thus  enabled  to  take  a  prominent  part  in  the  defence  of  the 
kingdom.  The  king  sent  for  Bevis,  made  him  a  knight, 
and  gave  him  the  chief  command  of  his  forces  ;  and  his 
equipment,  which  is  noteworthy,  as  it  figures  more  than 
once  in  the  story,  is  thus  described  : 

1  From.        2  Damascus.         3  Unless.         4  Quickly.          s  Annoy. 


134  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Bevis  did  on  he  auctovvne  * 
That  worthied2  many  a  towne. 
An  hauberke  Josian  him  brought, 
A  better  hauberke  was  never  wrought  ; 
A  helmet  she  gave  him  good  and  faire, 
There  might  no  thing  it  appayre.3 
Than  gave  him  that  fayre  maye  4 
A  good  swerde  that  hight 5  Morglay, 
There  was  no  better  under  the  sonn, 
Mani  a  lande  therwith  was  wonn. 
Josian  gave  him  suche  a  stede, 
The  best  that  ever  on  grounde  yede  ;  6 
Full  well  can  I  his  name  tell, 
Men  called  him  Arundell ; 
No  horse  in  the  world  was  so  strong 
-  That  might  him  sue  7  a  forlonge. 

Thus  equipped,  he  sprung  into  the  saddle,  and  sounded 
his  horn,  so  that  his  followers  might  know  the  rallying 
sound.  His  force  consisted  of  twenty  thousand  barons  ; 
but  King  Bradmound  had  twice  as  many,  and,  when  the 
opposing  forces  met,  he  laughed  loudly  at  the  small  force 
sent  against  him.  He  had  a  gigantic  standard  bearer, 
King  Radison,  who  passed  for  the  champion  of  the  army, 
and  at  him  Sir  Bevis  went.  A  short  passage  of  arms, 
and  Radison  lay  dead,  with  Sir  Bevis's  spear  right  through 
him.  Then,  with  Morglay,  he  killed  a  hundred  Saracens, 
and,  indeed,  wherever  he  went,  "  heades  trindle  like  a  ball," 
the  invincible  sword  working  wonders.  At  last  he  en- 

1  Put  on  his  haqueton,  or  quilted  waistcoat,  worn  under  the  coat  of  mail. 

2  That  was  worth.  3  Damage.  4  Maid. 

5  Called ;   all  the   famous  swords  of   chivalry  were  named,   as  Arthur's 
Excalibur.  6  Went.  ?  Follow,  pursue. 


SIJK  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  135 

countered  Bradmound  himself,  and,  after  a  brief  combat, 
the  foe  was  at  his  mercy.  This  Bradmound  sought, 
offering  castles  and  towers  to  his  conqueror  in  exchange 
for  his  life.  But  Bevis  had  his  own  views  on  the  subject, 
and  would  only  grant  the  boon  on  condition  that  Brad- 
mound  became  King  Ermine's  "  man,"  or  vassal. 

Bevis  charged  him  in  his  laye 

That  he  shoulde  never  by  night  ne  by  daye 

Wayte  Kinge  Ermine  with  no  treason, 

But  ever  be  at  his  sommon, 

And  hold  him  of  thy  lands  as  chefe. 

Had  Sir  Bevis  the  gift  of  prescience,  it  would  have 
been  better,  as  the  chronicler  remarks,  for  him  to  have 
killed  King  Bradmound  at  once ;  but  he  was  content 
with  his  decisive  victory,  and  returned  to  King  Ermine, 
taking  with  him  two  captured  knights  as  his  guests. 

The  King  Ermine  was  glad  and  blithe, 
And  blessed  Bevis  often  sithe. 

And  he  told  Josian  to  unarm  the  hero,  and  to  look  after 
his  personal  welfare — a  task  which  the  maiden  most  gladly 
undertook,  for  her  exceeding  love  towards  him,  and,  in- 
deed, she  told  him  that  she  would  rather  have  his  naked 
body  than  anything  that  Mahound  could  give;  but,  finding 
him  still  cold  to  her  advances,  she  upbraided  him,  calling 
him  a  churl,  and  bidding  him  go  hence.  He  retired  to 
his  chamber,  but  Josian,  left  to  herself,  soon  repented  of 
her  conduct  to  Sir  Bevis,  and  sent  her  chamberlain, 


136  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Boniface,  with  a  reconciliatory  message,  begging  Sir 
Bevis  to  come  to  her.  This  he  would  not  do,  as  he  said 
she  herself  had  bade  him  begone.  Boniface  returned  and 
told  his  lady,  who,  finding  that  Bevis  would  not  come  to 
her,  determined  to  go  to  him,  and  accordingly  went  to 
his  chamber,  where  she  found  him  awake. 

Bevis,  she  sayde,  a  whyle  awake, 
I  am  come  my  peas  to  make. 
Damoysell,  sayde  Bevis,  then, 
Let  me  lye,  and  go  me  from. 
Mercy,  she  sayde,  my  lemman x  swete, 
She  fell  downe  and  beganne  to  wepe, 
Forgyve  me  that  I  have  mis-saide, 
I  wyll  that  ye  be  well  apayde,2 
My  false  gods  I  wyll  forsake, 
And  Christendome  for  thee  to  take. 
On  that  covenant  sayd  Bevis  than 
I  wyll  the  love,  fay  re  Josyan. 

This,  then,  was  the  strange  wooing  of  Sir  Bevis  and 
the  fair  Josian,  who,  in  their  after  life,  met  with  many 
crosses,  yet  lost  not  faith  in  each  other. 

And  now  is  introduced  an  episode  of  moral  turpitude 
it  would  be  difficult  to  match.  Bevis  had  treated  the  two 
knights  whom  he  had  captured  in  his  fight  with  Brad- 
mound  as  his  brothers,  lodged  them  in  his  house,  and 
fed  them  at  his  table  ;  yet  these  two,  by  playing  eaves- 
droppers, overheard  the  love  passages  of  Bevis  and  Josian, 
and  immediately  went,  open-mouthed,  to  the  king,  to 

1  Love.  2  Paid. 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  1 3  7 

inform  him  of  his  daughter's  apostacy.     Their  behaviour 
is  thus  commented  on  in  the  metrical  version : 

It  is  sothe  by  all  hallowes  x 
Delyver  a  thefe  fro  the  gallows, 
He  shall  the  wate2  to  robbe  or  slo  ; 3 
So  it  fared  by  the  knightes  two  : 
Bevis  delivered  them  from  peryll, 
And  they  guytte  him  full  yll. 

King  Ermine  was  exceeding  wroth,  not  on  account  of 
the  love  his  daughter  bore  to  Bevis,  but  because  he  was 
a  Christian,  for  whose  sake  Josian  would  deny  her  gods. 
Yet  he  felt  that  it  would  not  be  politic  to  punish  Bevis 
openly,  and  one  of  his  court  suggested  a  plan  of  getting 
rid  of  the  hero  without  undue  publicity.  This  was  to 
write  a  letter  to  Bradmound,  charging  him  to  seize  Bevis 
and  keep  him  in  durance,  and  get  the  unsuspecting  knight 
to  be  the  bearer  of  the  missive. 

Bevis  was  sent  for,  and  entrusted  with  the  letter,  being 
strictly  charged  by  the  treacherous  Ermine  not  to  break 
the  seal  or  pry  into  its  contents.  He  asked  for  his  horse 
Arundel  and  his  sword  Morglay,  but  the  king  negatived 
the  suggestion,  pointing  out  that,  as  he  was  going  on  a 
pacific  errand,  an  easy  hackney  would  be  most  befitting. 
Not  only  did  he  go  unarmed  and  without  his  good  steed, 
but  he  neglected  his  commissariat,  so  that  after  two  or 
three  days'  riding  he  suffered  both  from  hunger  and  thirst, 
which,  added  to  his  bodily  weariness,  overcame  him,  and 

1  The  saints.  2  Lie  in  wait.  3  Slay. 


138  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

he  got  down  from  his  saddle  and  stretched  himself  on  the 
ground  to  sleep,  whilst  his  horse  cropped  the  grass.  When 
he  awoke  he  saw  a  palmer  near  him,  who  had  a  bountiful 
feast  spread  before  him  of  bread  and  wine  and  three 
baked  curlews.  The  palmer  recognized  Sir  Bevis's  social 
position,  and  courteously  invited  him  to  share  his  meal, 
which  he  did.  His  hunger  being  appeased,  he  questioned 
the  palmer  as  to  who  he  was,  and  was  told  that  his  name 
was  Terry,  the  son  of  Sir  Sabere,  who  had  sent  him  in 
quest  of  his  nephew  Bevis,  with  strict  injunctions  that  he 
was  to  roam  all  over  the  world,  but  that  he  must  find  him, 
for  Bevis  was  wanted  to  fight  for  his  heritage  against  Sir 
Murdure.  Bevis,  for  some  reason,  did  not  disclose  himself, 
but  professed  to  be  the  bosom  friend  of  that  knight,  and 
said  that  he  would  give  him  the  palmer's  message  as  soon 
as  he  had  accomplished  the  mission  he  had  on  hand. 
Then,  having  kissed  each  other,  they  went  their  several 
ways — the  palmer  towards  England,  Sir  Bevis  towards 
Damascus. 

That  city  was  duly  reached,  and  the  magnificence  of 
Bradmound's  palace  excited  Sir  Bevis's  admiration ;  but 
he  met  with  no  adventure  until  he  came  to  some  Saracens 
sacrificing  to  their  idol  Mahound.  Fired  with  holy  zeal, 
he  overturned  the  idol  in  the  mire,  and  the  natural  con- 
sequence ensued  ;  for  the  Saracens  resented  this  desecra- 
tion, and  fell  upon  the  perpetrator  of  the  sacrilege. 
Although  Sir  Bevis  had  left  Morglay  at  home,  and  had 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  139 

but  a  common  sword,  he  soon  killed  two  hundred  of  his 
enemies,  and  the  others  fled  to  the  palace,  where  they 
reported  the  slaughter  to  the  king,  who  at  once  went  to 
see  into  the  affair.  When  Sir  Bevis  saw  the  king,  he 
kneeled  down  and  delivered  his  letter.  This  the  king 
gave  to  a  clerk  to  read,  and  when  its  contents  had  been 
mastered,  the  king  rejoiced  exceedingly,  and  began  by 
upbraiding  Sir  Bevis  with  the  deeds  of  valour  he  had 
done  to  Bradmound's  detriment,  and  said  he  should  be 
slain.  Bevis  implored  that  he  might  not  die  a  dog's 
death,  but  rather  that  he  should  die  fighting  against  any 
numbers,  even  sixty  thousand  men.  But  the  revengeful 
Saracen  had  determined  that  he  should  "  die  with  muche 
sorowe."  One  more  struggle  he  made  for  liberty,  and  the 
souls  of  sixty  Saracens  were  liberated,  but  he  was  over- 
powered by  numbers,  and  bound. 

They  did  him  mock  honour,  seating  him  in  hall,  in  a 
knight's  stall,  and  fed  him  with  choice  meats  and  drinks,  the 
king  taunting  him  the  while  with  the  fact  that  this  should 
be  his  last  meal.  He  was  then  taken  to  a  dungeon  where 
he  was  left  unbound.  Searching  about,  he  found  a  short 
truncheon,  which  weapon  he  speedily  appropriated,  and 
he  also  discovered  that  a  stream  of  water  ran  through  his 
prison. 

He  had  been  there  but  a  little  while,  when  two  dragons 
made  their  appearance,  with  the  intention  of  making  a 
meal  of  Sir  Bevis,  but  he  encountered  them  bravely  with 


140  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

his  truncheon,  and  slew  them  both  after  a  combat  which 
lasted  all  that  day  and  night,  until  the  next  noon — a  fight 
so  severe  that  at  its  close  but  very  little  of  the  truncheon 
was  left  in  his  hand.  His  lot  was  a  hard  one. 

Seven  winters  he  was  thore, 

Meate  he  had  never  more 

But  once  a  daye  withouten  messe  x 

Of  wheat  bran  he  had  a  messe  ; 

Brede  or  corne  ete  he  none, 

But  of  water  he  had  great  wone ; 2 

Rattes  and  myse  and  suche  smal  dere 

Was  his  meate  that  seven  yere. 

During  this  time  how  fared  Josian  ?  She  soon  missed 
her  lover,  and  straitly  asked  her  father  what  had  become 
of  him  ;  and  he  falsely  answered  that  he  had  gone  to  live 
on  his  estate  in  England,  where  he  had  married  a  king's 

daughter. 

Than  was  Josian  full  of  wo. 

And  to  her  chamber  she  did  go, 

And  wept  sore  for  Syr  Bevis, 

And  thought  some  treason  here  is  ; 

There  is  no  man  can  tell  the  sorowe 

That  she  made  both  even  and  morowe. 

The  loss  of  Sir  Bevis  was  not  her  sole  affliction.  She 
was  again  sought  in  marriage  ;  this  time  by  Joure,  King  of 
Mambraunt,  whose  suit  found  favour  in  her  father's  eyes, 
and  she  was  commanded  to  marry  him.  She  durst  not 
disobey ;  and  they  were  married.  However,  although 
wedded,  she  was  determined  to  preserve  her  chastity,  and 
to  that  purpose  she  had  recourse  to  a  charm. 

1  Without  missing.  2  Quantity. 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  141 

I  shall  never  so  untrew  be 
As  thou  art,  Bevis,  to  me  : 
I  shall  now  go  and  make  me  a  writte 
Through  a  clarke  wyse  of  witte, 
There  no  man  shall  have  grace 
While  the  letters  are  in  this  place, 
Against  my  wyll  to  lye  me  by, 
Nor  do  me  shame  nor  vylany. 

This  charm  she  hung  around  her  neck,  and  it  fully 
answered  its  purpose,  for,  after  their  espousal,  they  set  out 
for  King  Ermine's  court.  The  king,  wishing  to  do  his 
son-in-law  all  the  honour  in  his  power,  met  him  on  the  way, 
and  presented  him  with  Arundel  and  Morglay.  Struck  by 
the  beauty  of  the  horse,  King  Joure  mounted  him  to  ride 
into  the  city  ;  but  the  horse,  finding  his  rider  was  not 
Bevis,  leaped  over  hedge  and  ditch,  briar  and  corn,  until  he 
had  thrown  the  unfortunate  king  and  broken  his  back — of 
which  hurt  he  died.  Poor  Arundel,  as  the  cause  of  the 
mischief,  was  bound  with  great  ropes,  and  had  no  food  nor 
water  given  him  ;  and,  had  it  not  been  through  the  kind- 
ness of  Josian  (now  Queen  of  Mambraunt),  who  privily 
fed  him,  he  would  have  been  starved. 

Bevis,  meanwhile,  was  in  evil  case,  rotting  in  a  foul 
dungeon,  with  only  carrion  for  food  ;  his  person  neglected, 
and  his  hair  long  and  matted,  yet  was  he  not  forsaken  by  the 
Almighty.  The  story  goes  that  one  night  an  adder  bit 
him  on  his  brow,  and  the  pain  having  awakened  him,  he 
prayed  to  God  for  help ;  and  immediately  an  angel 
appeared  and  cured  him.  After  this,  his  piety  became 


142  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

more  demonstrative,  and  his  petitions  were  so  fervid,  that 
they  were  overheard  by  his  two  gaolers,  who,  because  their 
prisoner  so  despised  Mahound,  thought  it  would  be  a 
meritorious  deed  to  kill  him.  One  of  them,  taking  a  cord 
and  lanthorn,  lowered  himself  into  the  dungeon,  and  smote 
Bevis  so  that  he  fell ;  but,  after  a  short  prayer,  he  threw 
himself  upon  his  gaoler,  and,  with  his  fists  only,  broke  his 
neck.  After  a  while  the  other  warder  descended,  but, 
when  he  saw  his  fellow  dead,  he  would  have  fain  climbed 
up  again  ;  but  Sir  Bevis  prevented  him,  and  killed  him 
with  the  sword  of  gaoler  No.  I. 

The  murder  of  his  gaolers  naturally  deprived  him  of  his 
"  bran  messe,"  and  for  three  days  he  had  no  food.  He  had 
recourse  again  to  prayer  ;  and,  by  a  superhuman  effort,  he 
was  enabled  to  reach  the  rope  by  which  the  warders  had 
descended,  and  thus  climb  up  to  the  level  of  the  ground. 
This  happened  about  midnight,  and,  listening,  he  heard 

...  in  the  stable 
Gromes  synge,  and  make  bable.1 

They  were  dressing  the  royal  horses,  and,  as  he  stood  in 
need  of  a  good  steed  for  his  escape,  he  burst  open  the  door, 
killed  a  few  grooms,  and  chose  the  best  horse  for  himself. 
He  then  woke  the  porter,  by  telling  him  that  Bevis  of 
Hampton  had  escaped,  and  that  he  was  in  pursuit.  On 
this  the  gates  were  unlocked,  and  Bevis  rejoiced  once  more 
in  freedom.  The  poor  janitor,  on  going  his  rounds,  found 

1  Babble,  talk. 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  143 

the  gaolers  dead,  and  Sir  Bevis  missing,  and  thus  woke  up 
to  a  sense  of  the  situation,  causing  him  to  remark — 

...  By  my  snoute 
That  was  Bevis  that  I  let  oute. 

He  at  once  reported  the  loss  to  the  King  Bradmound, 
who  lost  but  little  time  in  fretting  over  it,  but  took  prompt 
measures,  summoning  his  barons,  and  specially  one,  Sir 
Graunders,  who  had  a  wonderful  horse  called  Truncefyce, 
said  to  be  worth  its  weight  in  gold.  Sir  Graunders  was 
the  first  ready,  and  set  off  at  once  in  pursuit,  thinking  to 
win  the  prize  easily  ;  and  he  soon  came  up  with  Sir  Bevis. 
The  greetings  usual  in  such  cases  were  exchanged,  and 
then  they  fought.  The  combat  was  soon  over. 

Bevis  turned  him  well  and  fayre, 
And  rode  together  with  great  ayre  ; 
Suche  a  stroke  him  gave  Graunder 
That  through  helme  and  halberke  cler 
Hert  and  bodi  he  clave  in  sunder, 
There  helped  no  armour,  yt  was  wonder 
Ryght  to  the  sadle  be  hed  mine, 
And  clove  him  downe  as  a  swyne. 

The  next  thing  was  to  possess  himself  of  the  matchless 
steed  Truncefyce.  The  combat  had,  naturally,  somewhat 
delayed  him,  and,  when  he  was  mounted,  he  saw  King 
Bradmound  and  his  host  in  hot  pursuit.  He  fled  on  until 
he  came  to  the  sea,  in  which  he  thought  he  would  rather 
perish  than  be  slain  by  the  heathen  ;  so,  after  a  pious 
ejaculation,  he  put  the  good  horse  at  it  and  leaped  forty 
feet  into  the  sea.  This  feat  the  Saracens  dared  not 


i44  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

emulate,  and  Truncefyce  bore  him  safely  to  the  opposite 
shore ;  but  so  feeble  was  Bevis,  that,  when  the  horse 
reached  the  land,  and  shook  himself,  the  rider  fell  to  the 
ground.  Such  was  his  famished  condition  that  he 
remarked — 

Lome,  sayd  Bevis,  how  hongry  am  I, 
And  I  were  Kyng  of  Armony, 
I  would  in  geve  withouten  reade 
For  a  shever  l  of  browne  breade. 

He  remounted  his  horse,  and  had  not  ridden  long  when  he 
came  to  a  fair  castle,  on  whose  wall  was  a  lady,  whom  the 
famished  knight  conjured  :  "  For  his  love  that  dyed  on  a 
tre,  one  mele's  mete  thou  geve  me."  But  the  lady  begged 
him  to  go  away,  explaining  that  her  husband  was  a  giant, 
who  believed  in  Mahound  and  Termagaunt,  who  would 
take  a  pleasure  in  slaying  a  Christian.  But  Bevis  insisting 
that  there,  and  there  only,  would  he  eat  food,  she  was 
obliged  to  go  and  tell  her  husband,  who  was  Sir  Graunders' 
brother.  He  was  naturally  annoyed,  especially  when  he 
recognized  Truncefyce ;  and  he  asked  Bevis  whence  he 
had  stolen  him.  Sir  Bevis  replied,  mockingly,  that  at  their 
last  meeting  he  had  shorn  Sir  Graunders'  crown  for  him, 
and  made  a  deacon  of  him,  but  that  he  would  make  a 
priest  of  the  giant.  This  taunting  could  not  be  endured, 
and  the  giant  struck  out  at  Bevis,  missed  him,  but  killed 
Truncefyce,  and  the  battle  waged  on  foot.  The  giant  sent 

1  Slice. 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  145 

a  dart  through  Bevis's  shoulder,  and  he  retorted  by  a  blow 
which  severed  the  giant's  head  from  his  body. 

Then  his  appetite  again  asserted  its  sway,  and  he  would 
have  meat.  The  new-made  widow  durst  not  refuse  the 
conqueror,  and  she  served  him  with  bread,  wine,  and  fine 
meats,  all  of  which,  as  a  precautionary  measure  against 
poison,  he  insisted  upon  her  tasting.  Refreshed  by  this 
food,  he  bound  up  his  wound,  and,  with  a  light  heart, 
i  resumed  his  journey,  only  wishing  that  King  Bradmound 
and  his  army  were  before  him,  that  he  might  enjoy  the 
pastime  of  slaughtering  them. 

So  he  rode  on  until  he  came  to  Jerusalem,  where  he  took 
the  opportunity  (having  lived  so  long  in  heathen  lands)  of 
confessing  to  the  Patriarch,  who  gave  him  absolution,  and 
kept  him  as  his  guest  until  he  was  quite  cured  of  his 
wounds,  and  recovered  from  his  fatigues.  One  thing  the 
Patriarch  especially  charged  him — 

And  forbod  him  on  his  lyfe 

That  never  he  should  wedde  a  wyfe 

But  if  she  were  a  mayden  clene. 

Taking  leave  of  the  Patriarch,  he  rode  on,  revolving  in 
his  mind  what  his  future  course  of  action  should  be, 
whether  he  should  go  to  England  and  slay  his  stepfather, 
or  go  to  the  kingdom  of  Armony  and  look  after  the  fair 
Josian.  And,  while  he  rode,  thus  self-communing,  he  met 
with  a  knight,  an  old  comrade,  and  they  went  on  their  way 
together,  the  knight  giving  him  news,  to  which,  from  his 

II 


146  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

long  imprisonment,  he  was  a  stranger.  How  that  Josian 
had  been  married  to  King  Joure  of  Mambraunt,1  who  was 
then  owner  both  of  Arundel  and  his  sword  Morglay. 

This  decided  Sir  Bevis,  and  he  at  once  turned  his  steps 
towards  Mambraunt,  which,  when  he  reached,  he  would  not 
enter  as  a  knight,  but  exchanged  his  horse  with  a  palmer 
for  his  clothes.  On  his  arrival  at  the  palace,  he  found 
many  pilgrims  waiting,  and,  on  being  questioned,  they 
informed  him  that  every  day  the  queen  distributed  alms  for 
the  love  of  Bevis  of  Hampton.  Finding  that  this  would 
not  take  place  until  the  afternoon,  he  wandered  round  the 
palace,  and  heard,  in  a  turret,  Josian  making  moan  for  him. 

He  joined  the  pilgrims  at  the  almsgiving,  but  was 
singled  out  by  Josian,  who  asked  him  if  in  any  land  he 
had  heard  of  Bevis  of  Hampton.  Yes,  he  replied,  he  knew 
him  well  enough  ;  for  they  were  both  earls,  and  often  had 
he  heard  him  tell  of  his  horse  Arundel,  and  much  would  he 
like  to  see  him.  The  queen  led  Bevis  to  the  stables,  when 
he  went  up  to  and  spoke  to  Arundel,  who  no  sooner  heard 
the  voice  of  his  loved  master  than  he  burst  seven  chains 
that  confined  him,  and  ran  out,  neighing  loudly.  The 
queen  was  afraid  that  the  horse  would  hurt  some  one,  but 
Sir  Bevis  bade  her  fear  nought,  for  he  could  manage  him  ; 
and,  leaping  on  Arundel's  back,  the  scales  fell  from  Josian's 

1  The  chronicler,  here,  has  availed  himself  of  poetic  license ;  for,  in  a 
former  part  of  the  Romance,  Aundel  threw,  and  killed,  King  Joure  immediately 
after  his  wedding  with  Josian. 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  1 47 

eyes,  and  she  recognized  her  old  love.  She  at  once 
reminded  him  of  his  promise  to  make  her  his  wife  if  she 
forsook  her  false  gods — told  him  that  she  would  get  him 
his  good  sword  Morglay,  and  begged  of  him  to  take  her 
with  him.  The  conditions  imposed  upon  him  by  the  Patri- 
arch of  Jerusalem  came  vividly  before  his  mind,  and  he  told 
her  of  the  difficulty  ;  but  she  so  asserted  her  absolute  chastity, 
that  he  could  not  but  believe  her,  and  wished  to  begin  their 
flight  at  once. 

But  the  old  chamberlain,  Boniface,  had  overheard  them, 
and,  disapproving  of  their  plan,  he  gave  them  the  benefit 
of  his  sage  counsel.  He  pointed  out  that,  if  they  fled  now, 
the  king  would  at  once  pursue  them  on  his  return  from 
hunting,  but  that  if,  when  the  king  came  back,  he  were  to 
go  boldly  into  the  hall,  the  king  would  inquire  of  him,  as 
a  stranger,  what  news  he  had. 

Ye  shall  tell  him  redely 

That  ye  came  out  of  Surry,1 

And  that  the  land  is  greatly  noyed,2 

Townes  be  brent  and  men  destroied, 

And  that  King  Bradwyne  is 

In  point  to  lese 3  his  landes  ywis  4 

Through  Syrake  and  his  men. 

Now  this  counsel  was  feasible,  as  Bradwine  was  brother 
to  Joure,  and,  having  tied  up  Arundel,  he  went  into  hall, 
and  things  fell  out  as  Boniface  had  suggested.  The  king 
had  some  doubts  as  to  the  truth  of  Bevis's  story,  thinking 

1  Syria.  2  Disturbed.  3  Lose.  4  j  thinke. 


148  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

it  strange  that  his  brother  should  not  have  sent  to  him 
to  tell  him  of  the  straits  he  was  in  ;  but,  on  Bevis  asseve- 
rating that  it  was  perfectly  true,  he  ordered  his  troops  to 
get  ready,  and  set  out  to  his  brother's  assistance.  He  left 
Sir  Grassy,  his  steward,  in  charge  of  home,  but  the  wily 
Boniface  disposed  of  him,  by  giving  him  a  sleeping  draught. 

They  then  took  their  flight ;  but  when  Sir  Grassy  awoke 
next  day,  and  found  the  queen  had  fled  with  the  pseudo 
palmer,  he  followed  them  with  all  the  men  of  Mambraunt, 
and  surrounded  the  fugitives.  Sir  Bevis  felt  that  he, 
Arundel,  and  Morglay,  ought  to  be  amusing  themselves 
in  slaughtering  this  mob,  but  the  wise  Boniface  would  not 
hear  of  it,  and  led  them  to  a  cave  where  they  might  be 
hidden  and  secure;  and  so  it  happened.  Grassy  searched 
all  about,  and,  finding  no  trace  of  them,  went  back  with 
his  force  home  again. 

But  during  their  sojourn  in  the  cave,  food  was  scant — so 
much  so  that  Bevis  had  to  leave  Boniface  and  Josian,  and 
go  and  search  for  food.  During  his  absence  two  lions 
visited  the  cave,  and  although  Boniface  made  all  the 
resistance  possible,  they  slew  and  devoured  him  and  his 
horse.  Then,  succumbing  to  the  potent  virtue  of  Josian 
in  her  combined  character  of  king's  daughter  and  pure 
maiden,  they  laid  their  heads  in  her  lap,  for  they  were 
unable  to  harm  her.  A  terrible  sight  greeted  Bevis  on  his 
return,  but  his  joy  was  great  when  he  saw  Josian  unhurt. 
She  calmly  said  : 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  149 

Come  and  venge  me  of  these  two, 
For  right  now  have  they  slayne 
Bonyface  your  chamberlayne ; 
The  one  lyon  will  I  holde 
Whyles  ye  make  the  other  cold. 

This  mastery  over  the  lions,  and  the  utter  absence  of 
fear  of  them,  convinced  Bevis  of  Josian's  purity  ;  but  it 
was  not  in  his  nature  to  have  his  adventures  made  easy 
for  him,  so  he  desired  that  both  should  be  loosed  on  him 

at  once. 

Strong  and  perylous  was  that  fyght 
Betwene  the  lyons  and  the  knyght ; 
They  gave  him  woundes  longe  and  wyde, 
f  His  armure  they  tare  on  every  syde. 

But  at  last  he  slew  them  both  with  one  stroke  of  his 
sword.  A  little  time  was  devoted  to  grief  for  Boniface, 
and  they  continued  on  their  journey,  which  was  not 
destined  to  be  uneventful ;  for  they  had  not  gone  far 
before  they  met  with  a  giant,  who,  as  he  plays  a  some- 
what important  part  in  this  history,  had  better  be  de- 
scribed in  the  chronicler's  own  words : 

He  was  bothe  myghty  and  stronge, 
He  was  full  thyrty  fote  longe, 
He  was  brystled  like  a  sowe, 
A  fote  there  was  betwene  each  brow  ; 
His  lipes  were  great,  they  hanged  syde,1 
His  eies  were  holow,  his  mouth  wide  ; 
He  was  lothely  to  loke  on, 
He  was  lyker  a  dyvell  than  a  man  ; 
His  staffe  was  a  yonge  oke, 
He  would  geve  a  great  stroke. 
1  Aside. 


i5o  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Sir  Bevis  asked  this  portentous  being  what  he  called 
himself ;  he  replied  that  his  name  was  Ascaparte,  and  that 
he  had  been  sent  by  Sir  Grassy  to  bring  back  the  run- 
aways, that  he  was  delighted  to  have  met  with  them,  and 
would,  after  binding  them,  lead  them  to  Mambraunt.  But 
this  was  not  Bevis's  way  ;  so,  lighting  from  Arundel,  whom 
he  gave  to  Josian  to  hold,  he  assailed  Ascaparte  with 
Morglay,  and,  being  light  and  active,  skipped  hither  and 
thither,  dealing  the  giant  wounds,  which,  from  his  unwieldi- 
ness,  he  was  unable  to  parry,  whilst  his  own  strokes  fell 
harmless.  At  last,  making  a  mighty  blow,  he  slipped  and 
fell,  and  Sir  Bevis  at  once  was  ready  to  cut  off  his  head ; 
but  Josian,  who  evidently  had  a  fashionable  lady's  eye  for 
a  tall  footman,  begged  her  lover  not  to  kill  him. 

Syr,  she  sayd,  ye  shall  him  save, 
And  let  him  live  and  be  your  knave.1 
Dame,  he  sayd,  he  wyll  us  betraye, 
I  will  be  borowe 2  he  sayde  naye. 
Ascaparte  made  Bevis  homage, 
And  became  Syr  Bevis'  page. 

They  journeyed  on  until  they  came  to  the  sea,  where 
they  found  a  merchant  ship  ready  to  sail  for  Christendom, 
but  the  Saracens  therein  did  not  care  to  receive  Sir  Bevis 
and  Josian,  and  Ascaparte  had  to  clear  them  all  out, 
which  he  did  with  very  little  trouble.  Then,  tucking 
Arundel  and  Sir  Bevis  under  one  arm,  and  Josian  under 

1  Man-servant.  2  I  will  pledge  myself. 


BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  151 

the   other,  he   stalked   on   board,  hoisted  the  sail,  and,  in 
course  of  time,  arrived  at  Cologne. 


SIR   BEVIS    FIGHTS   AND   OVERCOMES  ASCAPARTE. 

Here  he  found  a  relative,  in  the  person  of  the  bishop, 
who  turned  out  to  be  a  brother  of  Sir  Sabere,  and,  conse- 
quently, his  uncle  ;  and  of  course,  under  such  favourable 
conditions,  his  first  care  was  to  get  Josian  baptized,  and 


152  £  OMANCES  OF  CHI  VALR  Y. 

in   answer  to  the  bishop's   inquiry  as  to  who   this  lady 

was — 

Syr,  sayd  Bevis,  of  hethenesse  a  quene  ; 
For  her  I  have  suffred  muche  payne, 
And  she  wolde  become  christen  fayne. 


ASCAPARTE  CARRIES   SIR   BEVIS   AND  JOSIAN   ON    BOARD  SHIP. 

He  sayde,  what  is  he  this  bad  visage  ? 
Syr,  sayd  Bevis,  he  is  my  page, 
I  pray  you  chrysten  him  also, 
Though  he  be  both  blacke  and  bio. 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  1 5 3 

The  byshope  christened  Josian 

That  was  as  white  as  any  swan, 

For  Ascaparte  was  made  a  tonne  ; x 

And  whan  he  shoulde  therein  be  donne, 

He  lepet  over  upon  the  benche, 

And  said,  churle,  wilt  thou  me  drenche, 

The  devyll  of  hell  thy  bayne2  be  ; 

I  am  to  muche  to  be  christned,  I  tel  ye. 

The  folke  had  good  game  and  loughe, 

But  the  byshope  was  wroth  ynoughe. 

During  his  stay  in  Cologne,  he  prevented  himself  from 
rusting,  and  did  good  to  the  inhabitants  of  that  district 
by  slaying  a  dragon.  He  started  on  this  adventure  with 
Ascaparte,  but  the  great  lubber  had  no  pluck,  and  returned 
home  after  having  heard  the  dragon  yell.  The  description 
of  the  fight  takes  up  many  pages.  At  last  he 

.  .  .  hit  him  under  the  winge 

As  he  was  in  his  flienge. 

There  he  was  tender,  without  scale, 

And  Bevis  thought  to  be  his  bale. 

He  smote  after  as  I  you  say 

With  his  good  sworde  Morglay. 

Up  to  the  hylter  Morglay  yode,3 

Through  herte,  lyver,  bone  and  bloude. 

Then,  cutting  off  the  dragon's  head,  he  stuck  it  on  a 
spear,  and  bore  it  to  the  town,  where  the  inhabitants 
received  him  with  enthusiasm,  and  gave  him  an  ovation. 

Having  thus  propitiated  the  people  and  bishop  of 
Cologne,  he  asked  the  latter's  assistance  to  avenge  his 
father's  death,  and  he  was  promised  a  hundred  men-at- 

1  Barrel,  or  cask  for  his  immersion.  2  Bane.  3  Went. 


154  ROMANCES  OP  CHIVALRY. 

arms  at  the  bishop's  cost  and  maintenance.  As  the 
enterprise  was  somewhat  hazardous,  he  left  Josian  behind 
him,  and  set  forth  with  his  company.  On  his  arrival  near 
Hampton  he  sent  a  messenger  to  Sir  Murdure  to  say  that 
a  knight  of  Brittany,  named  Sir  Gararde,  with  a  goodly 
company,  had  come  thither,  understanding  that  he  was 
going  to  war  with  another  knight,  and  that,  if  he  would, 
they  would  help  him,  or,  if  not,  they  would  join  the  other  side. 
Needless  to  say  Sir  Murdure  was  glad  of  such  aid,  and 
welcomed  Sir  Bevis  heartily.  His  mother,  not  knowing 
who  he  was,  feasted  him,  and  Sir  Murdure  regaled  his 
guest  with  a  very  garbled  version  of  Sir  Sabere's  en- 
deavours to  reassert  his  nephew's  rights :  after  hearing  which, 
our  hero  was  in  strange  doubt  whether  to  slay  Sir  Murdure 
there,  or  go  away  from  him.  If  he  did  the  one,  he  would 
be  counted  guilty  of  treachery  ;  if  the  other,  of  cowardice; 
so  he  decided  to  slay  him  in  open  fight  ;  but  to  do  this  he 
had  recourse  to  stratagem.  He  told  Sir  Murdure  that 
his  men  had  left  their  horses  and  armour  behind  them, 
and  begged  him  to  furnish  them  with  these  necessaries  as 
well  as  shipping  to  take  them  to  the  Isle  of  Wight,  where 
Sir  Sabere  was.  Sir  Murdure  found  them,  and  Sir  Bevis 
sailed,  thus  furnished  at  the  enemy's  expense,  to  join  his 
uncle.  Sir  Sabere  recognized  his  nephew's  cognizance, 
and  met  him  with  effusion.  A  messenger  was  found,  bold 
enough  to  go  to  the  felon  Murdure,  and  tell  him  that  Sir 
Gararde  was,  in  truth,  Sir  Bevis,  who  meant  to  avenge 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  155 

his  father's  death,  and  win  back  his  own  heritage.  Sir 
Murdure  was  in  such  an  ungovernable  rage  at  these  tidings 
that  he  threw  his  knife  at  the  messenger,  but,  missing  him, 
the  blade  was  buried  in  the  breast  of  his  own  son,  killing 
him  on  the  spot ;  whilst  the  messenger,  taking  advantage 
of  the  uproar,  jumped  on  his  horse  and  escaped. 

The  story  now  turns  on  the  fortunes  of  Josian,  who  was 
left  at  Cologne.  An  earl  named  Myle  cast  loving  eyes 
upon  her,  and  left  her  not  long  without  disclosing  his 
passion  for  her ;  and,  when  he  would  fain  have  possessed 
her,  by  fair  means  or  foul,  she  told  him  that,  if  he  tried  the 
latter,  she  would  hand  him  over  to  Ascaparte.  The  earl 
knew  how  to  deal  with  a  thick-witted  giant,  and  sent  the 
latter  a  letter  purporting  to  come  from  Bevis,  in  which  he 
bade  his  page  meet  him  at  a  certain  castle.  The  un- 
reasoning mountain  of  flesh  at  once  set  out,  arrived  at  the 
castle,  went  inside,  and  was  duly  locked  in. 

The  earl  lost  no  time  in  conveying  this  news  to  Josian, 
and  she  sent  a  statement  of  her  position  by  a  messenger  to 
Sir  Bevis,  and  then,  when  the  earl  next  came  a-wooing, 
she  promised  to  be  his  bride,  and,  what  is  more,  next  day 
they  were  married.  But,  on  the  wedding  night,  when  they 
were  retiring  to  rest,  and  had  received  the  then  usual  visits 
of  their  friends  and  guests — 

Syr,  sayd  Josian,  fayre  love  myne, 
Let  no  person  herein  be 
This  night  to  here  our  privite. 


156  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Neyther  knyght,  mayden,  nor  swayne, 
Myselfe  shal  be  your  chamberlayne. 
He  sayd,  lemman,  it  shal  be  so  ; 
Both  man  and  maiden  he  made  out  go, 
He  shet  the  dore  well  and  fast, 
And  set  hym  downe  at  the  last. 
There  was  a  curtayne  as  it  was  lawe x 
Before  the  bed  it  was  drawe, 
Than,  on  her  gyrdel,  withouten  lesinge 
She  made  a  knot  rydyng ; 
About  his  necke  she  drewe  it  thore 
And  strangled  hym  withouten  more, 
Then  on  a  beme  she  hanged  him  hye. 

Josian  slept  soundly  and  late,  and  the  barons,  &c.,  came 
to  the  door  to  rouse  the  sluggards,  when  Josian  pointed 
to  the  swinging  corpse,  and  confessed  it  to  be  her  deed. 
Swiftly  did  her  punishment  fall  upon  her.  She  was  con- 
demned to  be  burnt  at  a  stake,  on  the  morrow,  outside  the 
town.  The  glare  of  the  fire  caught  Ascaparte's  eyes,  and, 
a  glimmer  of  sense  coming  through  his  dull  brain,  he  burst 
out  of  the  castle,  and,  seizing  a  fisherman's  boat,  he  came 
to  land,  where  the  first  to  greet  him  was  Sir  Bevis,  who 
asked  him  where  was  Josian  ?  and  he  stammered  out  an 
excuse  that  Earl  Myle  had  betrayed  him. 

There  was  no  time  for  parley,  but  onwards  they  sped  ; 
and,  indeed,  they  came  not  a  moment  too  soon,  for  the  fire 
was  ready,  and  Josian  was  there. 

In  her  smocke  she  stode  therby, 
Right  as  they  shoulde  her  brenne. 

1  Hung. 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  1 5  7 

Bevis,  with  Morglay,  and  Arundel,  and  Ascaparte,  soon 
made  mincemeat  of  Earl  Myle's  friends,  and  they  all  took 
their  departure  for  the  Isle  of  Wight,  where  Sir  Sabere 
heartily  welcomed  them. 

Sir  Bevis  sought  and  obtained  recruits,  but  so  did  the 
other  side.  An  army  came  from  Almaine,  seven  thousand 
men  from  Scotland,  and  Sir  Murdure  had  three  thousand 
of  his  own.  Judging  these  to  be  sufficient,  they  took  ship 
to  the  Isle  of  Wight.  Sir  Sabere's  troops  were  divided 
into  three  commands,  whereof  he  took  three  thousand,  Sir 
Bevis  three,  and  Ascaparte  was  trusted  with  another  three 
thousand.  The  fight  was  obstinate,  and  Bevis  endeavoured 
to  single  out  Sir  Murdure.  Once  he  succeeded  in  wounding 
him,  but  he  was  rescued.  Ascaparte  now  came  up,  with 
his  contingent  all  fresh,  and  the  enemy  were  greatly  afraid 
of  his  huge  stature.  Sir  Bevis  recommended  him  to  pay 
particular  attention  to  a  knight  on  a  white  horse,  who  was 
Sir  Murdure,  and  to  capture  him  by  all  means,  and  bring 
him  to  the  castle. 

Away  went  the  giant,  and  the  road  he  took  was  made 
plain  by  the  dead  and  dying,  whom  his  mighty  staff  laid 
low.  There  was  the  knight  on  the  white  horse  before  him  ; 
in  another  moment  horse  and  knight  were  tucked  up  under 
the  arm  of  the  giant,  whose  huge  form  was  now  the  centre 
of  the  battle.  The  King  of  Scotland  came  to  the  rescue  of 
Sir  Murdure,  Sir  Bevis  hurried  to  the  help  of  Ascaparte, 
and  fiercely  the  battle  waged.  Yet  Ascaparte's  mighty 


158  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

strength  prevailed,  and  Sir  Murdure  was  safely  lodged  in 
the  castle.  The  capture  of  their  leader  dispirited  Mur- 
dure's  hosts  ;  they  hesitated,  broke,  and  fled,  chased  by  Sir 
Bevis  and  Sir  Sabere  with  fearful  slaughter,  the  King  of 
Scotland  only,  with  a  trusty  few,  escaping  in  a  ship. 

They  had  now  a  little  leisure  to  bestow  on  Sir  Murdure, 
and  his  fate  was  evidently  intended  as  a  warning  to  those 
who  might  be  like  minded. 

Syr  Bevis  without  any  let 

Made  a  caudron  on  the  fyre  be  set 

Full  of  pyche  and  of  brymstone  : 

A  worse  death  was  never  none. 

Whan  the  caudron  boyled  harde 

Murdure  was  caste  in  the  mydwarde, 

That  deth  died  he  seckerly x 

For  the  deth  of  good  Syr  Guy. 

Thereof  hearde  the  countesse 

That  Syr  Murdure  dede  was, 

She  stode  above  in  a  towre, 

So  wo  she  was  for  Syr  Murdure 

That  she  fell  downe  and  broke  her  necke. 

I  beshrew  him  that  therof  doth  recke.2 

Now,  there  was  nothing  left  for  the  heir  but  to  enter  into 
the  heritage  he  had  so  hardly  won,  and  he  set  out  for 
Hampton,  where  he  was  met  by  the  burgesses,  who  brought 
him  to  his  castle.  Here  all  the  subsidiary  barons  did  him 
homage,  and  the  one  thing  necessary  to  his  happiness  was 
also  attainable. 

Than  Bevis,  he,  sothe  to  sayne, 
Sent  after  the  byshop  of  Coleyne 

1  Surely.  2  I  pity  him  who  cares  about  it. 


SIR  BEVIS  OF  HAMPTON.  159 

That  he  woulde  for  anithinge 

To  be  at  his  weddinge. 

Whan  the  bysshope  was  ther  come, 

Two  knights  had  Josian  anone  ; 

To  Churche  than  they  her  ledde, 

The  Bysshope  him  selfe  on  the  boke  red, 

And  to  Bevis  was  wedded  blyve * 

To  the  endynge  of  theyr  lyve. 

Here,  according  to  modern  ethics,  the  history  should 
end.  Sir  Bevis  had  apparently  gained  his  heart's  desire, 
but  the  old  chronicler  has  much  more  to  tell  about  him. 

First,  acting  under  the  advice  of  his  uncle  Sabere,  he 
went  to  London  to  do  homage  to  King  Edgar,  who  not 
pnly  confirmed  him  in  his  earldom  of  Hampton,  but  made 
him  Earl  Marshal,  a  dignity  formerly  borne  by  his  father. 
This  visit,  however,  was  to  have  an  unhappy  influence  over 
the  future  life  of  Sir  Bevis.  And  it  happened  in  this  way. 
Whilst  at  King  Edgar's  Court, 

In  Somer  at  Whitsontyde, 
Whan  Knights  most  on  horsbacke  ride, 
A  cours  let  they  make  on  a  daye 
Stedes  and  palfrayes  for  to  assaye 
Whiche  horse  that  best  may  ren. 
Thre  myles  the  cours  was  then  ; 
Who  that  might  ryd  shoulde 
Have.  tl.  I*,  of  red  golde. 

Sir  Bevis,  confident  in  the  super-excellence  of  Arundel, 
entered  him  for  this  race,  and,  coming  on  the  day  appointed, 
found  his  competitors  had  already  started,  and  had  got 
some  half-mile  ahead.  But  Arundel,  even  thus  heavily 

1  Quickly, 


1 60  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALR  Y. 

handicapped,  soon  caught  up,  and  passed  his  rivals,  winning 
the  race  by  a  long  distance. 

The  king's  son  coveted  this  incomparable  steed,  and 
wished  to  buy  him  of  Bevis,  but  he  refused  to  part  with  him 
on  any  consideration.  So  the  prince  determined  to  take 
him,  and,  going  to  Arundel's  stable,  attempted  to  lead  him 
forth ;  but  one  kick  from  that  animal  scattered  his  brains — 
a  fate  which  King  Edgar  so  took  to  heart  that  he  called 
his  parliament  together,  and  demanded  that  Bevis  should 
be  slain,  by  being  torn  asunder  by  wild  beasts.  But  the 
barons  withstood  him,  saying  that  Bevis  had  nought  to  do 
with  his  son's  death,  but  that,  if  any  victim  was  necessary, 
Arundel  should  clearly  be  it. 

But  Bevis  loved  his  horse  so,  that  he  proposed  a  course 
which  was  agreed  to,  which  was,  that  if  Arundel  were 
spared,  he  would  give  up  his  heritage  and  honours  to  Sir 
Sabere,  and  banish  himself  from  England.  A  fortnight's 
grace  was  allowed  him,  but  if  at  the  expiration  of  that 
time  he  were  still  in  England,  "  he  shoulde  be  taken  and 
faste  bounde." 

Sadly  he  rode  to  Hampton,  and  at  once  set  about  the 
preparations  for  his  departure.  Humbly  he  went  forth 
with  Josian,  having  only  Ascaparte  for  retinue,  whilst 
Terry,  his  cousin,  accompanied  them  presumably  for  com- 
panionship. Better  had  it  been  if  Ascaparte  had  been  left 
behind,  for  the  fallen  fortunes  of  his  master  had  materially 
altered  the  giant's  feelings  towards  him. 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  161 

Ascaparte  that  false  thefe 
For  hym  Bevis  was  in  muche  grefe  ; 
He  thought  I  dwel  here  without  fail, 
I  get  nought  elles  but  great  travayl, 
And  I  myght  be  Termagaunte. 
Bring  Josyon  to  Mambraunte, 
Full  welcome  should  I  be  ye  king  tyll,1 
And  have  ynoughe  at  my  wyll. 
This  Ascaparte  false  was  he, 
For  Beyis  was  fallen  in  poverte. 
Whan  a  man  in  poverte  is  fall, 
Few  frendes  meteth  he  withall. 

What  made  this  exile  the  worse  was,  that  Josian  was 
very  near  her  confinement,  which  happened  when  they 
were  in  a  forest  Bevis  and  Terry  had  built  a  hut  for  her, 
and  when  her  time  came,  she  begged  them  so  earnestly  to 
go  away  from  her  for  a  while,  that  they  could  not  but  obey 
her.  She  was  delivered  of  twins  (boys),  and  then  the 
wretch  Ascaparte,  who  had  given  Bevis  and  Terry  the  slip, 
and  had  returned — 

To  the  lodge  wente  he  there, 

And  Josian  awaye  did  bere. 

There  might  no  praiers  her  borowe,2 

I  wonder  her  hart  burst  not  for  sorow, 

For  he  swore  by  Termagaunte 

He  woulde  her  lede  to  Mambraunte. 

Bevis,  on  his  return,  was  thunderstruck  to  find  Josian 
•gone,  and  the  twin  babes  in  her  place,  but  he  soon  came  to 
the  conclusion  that  it  was  Ascaparte's  doings,  and  fainted 
away.  On  his  recovery,  he  took  off  his  mantle,  and,  wrap- 
1  Thereof.  a  Avail. 

12 


1 62  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

ping  his  babes  therein,  set  off,  with  Terry,  in  pursuit  of 
Ascaparte.  On  their  way  they  met  a  forester,  who  could 
give  them  no  news ;  but  he  agreed  to  take  one  of  the  chil- 
dren, and  bring  it  up  for  seven  years,  when  he  was  to  take 
it  to  Sir  Bevis.  They  next  met  a  fisherman,  with  exactly 
similar  results,  and,  being  thus  "  without  encumbrance,'" 
Bevis  and  Terry  went  on  their  way. 

They  came  to  a  castellated  town,  in  which  they  stayed 
at  an  inn,  where  Bevis,  looking  out  of  a  window,  saw  pre- 
parations for  a  tournament.  On  inquiry  he  found  that  the 
lord  of  that  town,  who  was  dying,  and  his  daughter 
unmarried,  this  tournament  was  instituted,  so  that  the 
strongest  and  best  knight  was  to  have  her  hand  and  her 
lands  for  the  prize.  The  temptation  of  a  fight  was  so 
great,  that  Bevis  asked  Terry  if  they  should  joust  for  that 
lady,  and  Terry,  being  of  a  kindred  spirit,  consented. 
Needless  to  say,  they  overthrew  all  comers,  and  Sir  Bevis. 
was  adjudged  the  best  knight.  Dame  Elynor  (for  that  was. 
the  lady's  name)  immediately  proposed  their  marriage,  but 
when  she  learned  from  Bevis  his  melancholy  story,  they 
agreed  that  they  should  live  in  Platonic  friendship  for 
seven  years,  and  if  at  the  end  of  that  time  no  tidings  could 
be  heard  of  Josian,  they  were  to  be  married.  Meantime 
Bevis  was  governor  of  the  land. 

But  how  fared  it  with  Josian  whilst  her  lord  was  thus, 
unmindful  of  her  ?  Luckily  for  her,  Sir  Sabere  had  a  gift 
of  dreaming,  and  he  dreamt  that  Bevis  had  been  slaia 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  163 

by  Ascaparte ;  and,  so  vivid  was  the  vision,  that  he  felt 
convinced  that  harm  had  befallen  his  beloved  nephew. 
So,  with  twelve  knights,  disguised  as  palmers,  but  mail  clad, 
and  well  armed  under  their  pilgrim's  weeds,  they  set  out, 
and,  going  into  Heathenesse,  they  came  upon  Ascaparte  and 
Josian  near  the  city  of  Mambraunt.  Josian  appealed  to 
the  palmer,  Sir  Sabere,  for  succour,  and  not  without  avail, 
for  they  all  fell  on  Ascaparte  and  killed  him. 

The  giant  being  dead,  their  next  thoughts  were  to  find 
Sir  Bevis  ;  and  that  Josian  might  not  be  annoyed  in  her 
journeying  by  men  admiring  her  beauty,  Sir  Sabere  pro- 
vided for 

Her  body  that  was  so  fayre  and  gent  : r 
He  noynted  it  with  an  oyntment, 
And  made  her  to  seme  yelowe  and  grene 
That  was  before  so  fayre  and  shene, 
That  no  man  should  take  her  him  fro 
Therfore  discoloured  her  so. 

They  wandered  about  for  some  time  without  hearing  any 
tidings  of  Bevis,  until  they  came  to  a  city  where  Sir  Sabere 
accidentally  met  with  his  son  Terry.  Mutual  explanations 
ensued.  Josian's  ointment  was  removed ;  she  was  re-united 
to  Bevis  ;  her  children  were  sent  for,  and  came.  Sir  Terry 
married  Dame  Elynor,  and  once  more,  according  to  our 
ideas,  the  story  ought  to  come  to  an  end.  But  no  !  It  is 
carried  back,  and  shows  that  King  Joure,  having  been 
unable  to  find  any  traces  of  Bevis  and  Josian,  vented  his 

1  Gentle,  or  soft. 


1 64  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

wrath  upon  King  Ermine,  and  gave  him  battle.  A  pilgrim 
told  Bevis  the  news,  and  he,  his  two. sons,  Guy  and  Myles, 
and  Sir  Sabere,  accompanied  by  a  goodly  company  of 
knights,  went  forth  to  Armony. 

This  array  somewhat  frightened  the  old  king,  especially 
as  he  remembered  the  treacherous  trick  he  had  served  Sir 
Bevis,  so  he  cried  him  mercy  a  hundred  times,  and  pro- 
mised, if  he  would  but  forgive  him,  he  would  turn  Chris- 
tian. This  was  accepted,  and  the  Bishop  of  Rome  was 
applied  to  to  send  clergy ;  which  he  gladly  did,  who  bap- 
tized not  only  the  king,  but  all  his  people.  This  being 
satisfactorily  done,  Sir  Joure  began  to  be  aggressive,  and, 
having  got  together  an  army  of  forty  thousand  Saracens, 
he  invaded  Armony,  and  wasted  it  with  fire  and  sword. 
At  length  the  opposing  forces  met,  and  a  terrible  fight 
ensued.  Bevis,  with  Morglay  in  hand,  was  as  usual 
irresistible,  and  he  left  heaps  of  dead  Saracens  upon  the 
field.  At  last,  King  Joure  being  taken  prisoner  and  his 
host  overpowered,  they  fled,  being  slaughtered  in  their 
flight.  King  Joure  had,  in  prison,  time  for  reflection,  the 
upshot  of  which  was  a  desire  to  be  released,  and  to  that 
end 

King  Joure  prayed  Bevis  tho 

That  he  might  make  raunsome  and  go, 

And  for  his  raunsome  yf  he  wolde 

Twenty  sommers  of  red  golde, 

And  thre  hundreth  beddes  of  sylke, 

An  hundreth  stedes  as  whyt  as  mylke, 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  165 

An  hundreth  cuppes  of  golde  fyne 

And  as  many  of  Misculyne  : * 

All  this  raunsome  I  wyll  thee  gyve 

Yf  thou  nowe  let  me  lyve. 

Bevis  said  make  thi  servant  it  bring, 

And  I  shall  save  thy  life,  syr  king  ; 

So  muche  dred  I  not  the, 

But  I  lefer  have  yr  treasure  than  thee. 

King  Ermine,  finding  his  end  drawing  nigh,  sent  for 
Guy,  Sir  Bevis's  eldest  son,  and  made  over  the  kingdom  of 
Armony  to  him.  Then  the  old  man  died,  and  Sir  Sabere, 
longing  to  see  his  wife  and  children,  went  to  England. 

Bevis  had  suffered  from  misplaced  lenity  in  Ascaparte  ; 
he  had  now  to  have  a  repetition  of  the  lesson  in  King 
Joure,  who  coveted  the  horse  Arundel,  and  would  fain  steal 
it.  He  had  a  fitting  tool  in  a  horse  thief  named  Robson, 
who  went  to  Armony,  and,  with  his  charms  and  craft, 
beguiled  poor  Arundel,  whose  loss  left  his  master  inconso- 
lable. Here  Sir  Sabere's  accomplishment  of  dreaming, 
again  was  of  great  use.  He  had  a  vision  of  Sir  Bevis 
riding  Arundel,  that  the  horse  threw  him,  and  broke  two  of 
his  ribs.  So  satisfied  was  he  that  this  dream  portended 
evil,  that  he  set  out,  wella  rmed,  to  Mambraunt,  and  there, 
by  a  river,  he  saw  Robson  on  Arundel.  He  spoke  fairly  to 
the  thief,  but,  seizing  his  opportunity,  he  jumped  up  behind 
him,  and  slew  him. 

After   killing   the  infidel,  Sir   Sabere   turned  Arundel's 


Mixed  metal. 


1 66  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

head  towards  Armony,  followed  by  some  three  thousand 
Saracens.  Josian  was  in  a  tower,  and,  seeing  some  one 
riding  Arundel  and  thus  pursued,  told  Bevis,  who,  with  his 
two  sons  and  his  cousin  Terry,  and  all  his  knights,  sallied 
forth,  rescued  Sir  Sabere,  and  annihilated  the  Saracens. 

King  Joure,  naturally,  was  displeased  at  the  course 
events  were  taking,  and  sent  to  ask  counsel  of  his  brother 
Bradwine,  King  of  Syria,  who  advised  him  to  challenge 
Bevis  to  single  combat,  and  thus  end  the  strife — the  victor 
to  have  the  other's  lands.  With  Morglay's  assistance 
King  Joure  was  killed,  and  Bevis,  putting  on  his  armour, 
went  on,  at  once,  to  Mambraunt;  and  the  people  of  that  city, 
thinking  it  was  their  king  returned,  opened  their  gates,  and, 
in  consequence,  were  easily  subdued.  They  were  soon 
reconciled  to  their  new  ruler,  and  not  only  did  homage  to 
him,  but  they  "  cursed  their  mawmetry,"  *  and  were  bap- 
tized into  Christianity,  those  who  would  not  conform  to 
the  new  regulations  being  immediately  slain. 

One  day,  whilst  Bevis  and  Sir  Sabere  were  hawking,  a 
messenger  came  to  them,  and  reported  that  King  Edgar 
had,  by  counsel  of  his  steward,  disinherited  Sir  Sabere's 
son,  who  was  Bevis's  heir.  This  could  not  be  borne,  and 
the  whole  family,  with  ten  thousand  men,  set  forth  for 
England,  and  landed  at  Hampton  ;  and  there  they  found 
the  news  to  be  true,  that  Edgar,  at  the  instigation  of  Sir 
Bryan  of  Cornwall,  an  inveterate  enemy  of  Sir  Bevis,  had 

1  Mammet — an  idol,  puppet,  or  doll. 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  167 

seized  upon  Bevis's  estate,  in  satisfaction  of  Arundel  having 
killed  his  son. 

Bevis  and  his  host  marched  on  London,  and  encamped 
at  Putney,  where  leaving  them,  he,  with  twelve  knights 
only,  went  to  King  Edgar,  and  asked  him  why  he  had 
disinherited  Sir  Sabere  and  his  son.  The  king,  at  first, 
treated  him  kindly,  telling  him,  if  wrong  had  been  done 
him,  it  should  be  remedied  by  Parliament ;  but,  over- 
persuaded  by  Sir  Bryan,  he  came  to  no  definite  conclu- 
sion. Sir  Bevis  left  the  presence  without  redress,  and  Sir 
Bryan  made  a  cry  throughout  the  city,  assembling  all  who 
could  bear  arms.  The  city  gates  were  locked,  and  chains 
drawn  across  the  street. 

Bevis  bade  his  men  to  make  their  way  to  Putney,  and  to 
tell  his  sons  to  come  to  his  aid,  and  then,  leaping  on 
Arundel,  he  "  went  for "  Sir  Bryan,  and  clove  him  from 
the  crown  to  the  saddle,  and  killed  some  two  hundred  of 
the  citizens.  He  then  turned  into  Bread  Street,  where  he 
met  many  Lombards,  who  assaulted  him,  and  got  slain  for 
their  pains.  In  Chepe,  too,  was  a  bloody  fight,  some  six 
hundred  men  here  perishing,  and  there  was  fighting  all  that 
summer's  night. 

The  knights  reached  Putney  safely,  and  told  their  news. 
Josian  swooned,  but  the  men  folk  hastened  to  the  succour 
of  their  chief — Guy  arming  himself  with  a  sword  that  once 
belonged  to  Lancelot  du  Lac,  and  Myles  having  the  famous 
brand  Duvandel,  once  the  property  of  Roland.  They 


1 68  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

crossed  the  Thames,  effected  an  entrance  into  the  city  at 
Ludgate,  and  they  found  Sir  Bevis,  weary  indeed,  but  still 
fighting.  Guy  came  in  time  to  kill  a  "  doughty  Lombard," 
who  was  pressing  his  father,  and  this  he  did  with  such 
good  will  that  it  quite  revived  Sir  Bevis,  and  even  Arundel 
neighed  loudly,  "  and  helped  Bevis  for  to  fight."  It  was  a 

terrible  fight — 

So  harde  they  gan  together  mete 
That  the  blode  raune  in  every  strete  ; 
So  many  men  was  dead 
The  Chepe  syde  was  of  blode  red, 
For  there  was  slayne,  I  understand, 
To  the  number  of  thirty  thousande. 

The  fighting  having  ceased,  they  retired  to  Putney, 
and  thence  to  Hampton,  where  they  awaited  the  king's 
forces,  which  they  fully  expected  would  be  sent  to  punish 
them  ;  but  the  king  told  his  barons  all  that  this  strife  was 
entirely  caused  by  Sir  Bryan,  who  was  dead  :  that  Bevis 
was  a  man  of  war,  the  king  himself  was  getting  old,  and 
he  thought  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  give  his  daughter 
in  marriage  to  Sir  Bevis's  son  Myles,  whom  he  would 
make  Earl  of  Cornwall ;  and  this  was  duly  done,  amidst 
great  rejoicings. 

After  these  festivities  Bevis  and  Josian  retired  to  Mam- 
braunt,  and  dwelt  there  seven  years,  until  they  died. 
Their  end  was  peaceful,  a  contrast  to  their  lives. 

Than  waxed  Josian  seke  and  laye,1 
And  Bevis  also  as  I  you  saye  ; 
1  Took  to  her  bed. 


SIR  BE  VIS  OF  HAMPTON.  169 

Bishopes  and  friers  came  to  them  blyve  * 
Bevis  and  Josian  for  to  shryve. 
Whan  Bevis  and  Josian  the  good 
Had  themselfe  humbled  to  god  in  moode, 
Eyther  turned  to  other  without  host 
And  both  they  yielded  up  the  ghost. 

•If.  if.  if.  ;;;  ;;: 

Syr  Guy  than  to  the  stable  went  he 

Arundel  his  horse  for  to  se, 

Whan  he  came  there  no  sound  he  read 

For  Arundell  there  found  he  deade  ; 

Syr  Guy  thought  marveyle  ye  south  to  saye 

For  all  they  dyed  upon  a  daye. 

*  *  *  #  * 

Thus  endeth  Bevis  of  South  Hampton, 
King  and  Knight  of  great  renowne. 

1  Quietly. 


Sir  Gnjamoure, 

EARLY  MSS.  of  this  Romance  are  scarce.     There  is 
one   in   the   Public   Library   of  the   University   of 
Cambridge,  which  has  been  edited  by  Halliwell  for 
the  Percy  Society,  and  another  is  given  in  the  Pqrcy  MSS. 
Of  printed  copies  but  two  are  known  to  exist,  both  printed 
by  Copland,  one  in  the  Bodleian  Library,  and  the  other  in 
the  British  Museum,  and  from  the  latter  I  have  taken  my 
story. 

The  name  of  the  kingdom  over  which  Aradas  was 
sovereign,  was  Arragon,  but  when  he  reigned  we  shall 
probably  never  know ;  nor  is  it  material  in  order  to  follow 
out  this  history.  He  was  blessed  with  a  queen  whom  he 
loved  dearly,  by  name  Margarete,  and  they  seem  to  have 
lived  a  blissful  existence,  marred  only  by  one  drawback — 

Thys  kynge  loved  well  his  quene, 
Bycause  she  was  semely  to  sene, 
And  as  true  as  the  turtel  on  tree  ; 
Ether  to  other  made  grete  mone, 
For  chyldren  together  had  they  none  ; 


174  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

and  this  so  preyed  upon  the  king,  that  he  made  a  vow  to 
go  and  fight  the  heathen  in  the  Holy  Land,  hoping,  by  so 
doing,  to  find  favour  with  the  Deity,  who  might,  perhaps> 
grant  him  the  dearest  wish  of  his  heart.  The  queen  did 
her  best  to  combat  this  resolution,  but  neither  her  tears 
nor  entreaties  could  prevail,  and  the  king  set  out  on  his 
crusade,  leaving  his  wife  to  the  special  charge  of  his  steward 
Marrocke.  Now  this  Marrocke  was  a  false  and  specious 
traitor,  and  no  sooner  was  the  king's  back  turned,  than  he 
fell  to  a  wooing  of  the  queen  on  his  own  account ;  but  she 
scornfully  rejected  all  his  advances,  and  when  he  pestered 
her  still  more,  she  threatened  to  have  him  hanged  on  the 
gallows.  Then  he  no  longer  persecuted  her,  but  he  vowed 
to  be  avenged. 

The  king  performed  prodigies  of  valour  in  the  Holy 
Land,  and  made  a  very  short  campaign,  returning  after 
only  a  few  months'  absence ;  and  his  joy  at  his  coming 
home  was  marvellously  enhanced  by  finding  his  wife 
enceinte. 

Many  tymes  he  dyd  her  kysse, 

And  made  grete  joye  wythoute  mysse, 

His  hert  made  great  rejoicyng. 

But  this  was  of  short  duration,  for  the  villain  Marrocke 
assured  the  king  that  his  queen  had  been  unfaithful  to  him, 
and  that  he,  in  the  interests  of  his  master,  had  slain  her 
paramour.  At  this  news  the  king  sorrowed  greatly,  but 
seems  to  have  had  no  doubt  whatever  as  to  the  truth  of 


SIX  TRYAMOURE.  175 

his  steward's  story,  and  to  have  judged  her  without  the 
smallest  inquiry,  debating  whether  he  should  not  at  once 
burn  her.  Marrocke,  however,  was  against  this,  and 
suggested  banishment. 

Delyver  her  an  ambelynge  stede, 
And  an  olde  knyght  her  to  lede. 

This  advice  was  followed,  and  thus  the  wicked  steward 
carried  out  the  sentence  on  the  queen,  who  meekly,  but 
sorrowfully — a  very  patient  Griselda — suffered  her  unjust 
doom. 

He  dyd  her  clothe  in  purple  wede, 

And  sette  her  on  an  olde  stede, 

That  was  both  croked  and  almost  blynd. 

He  toke  her  an  olde  knyght, 

Kynne  to  the  quene,  and  Syr  Roger  hyght 

That  was  bothe  curteyse  and  kynd  ; 

Thre  dayes  he  gave  them  leve  to  passe. 

And  after  that  daye  set  was, 

If  men  myght  them  fynde 

The  quene  sholde  be  brent  stercke *  dede 

In  a  fyre  with  flames  rede. 

This  came  of  the  stuardes  mynde. 

Forty  florens  for  theyr  expence 

The  kyng  had  given  them  in  this  presence. 

And  so  they  set  out  on  their  sorrowful  journey,  the 
queen  weeping,  and  the  old  knight  comforting  her  as  best 
he  might.  No  servants  accompanied  them  ;  there  were  but 
they  twain  and  a  noble  greyhound  belonging  to  Sir  Roger. 
Slowly,  too,  they  went,  and  on  this  the  wicked  Marrocke 

1  Stark,  stiff. 


1 7 6  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALR  Y. 

counted,  for  he  got  together  a  band  of  his  own  men,  and 
having  got  in  front  of  the  exiles,  he  lay  in  wait  for  them, 
his  object  being  to  kill  the  knight  and  possess  himself  of 
the  queen.  When,  therefore,  they  came  near,  he  and  his 
men  showed  themselves,  declaring  their  intentions.  The 
old  knight  laid  about  him  manfully,  and  accounted  for  four- 
teen of  the  caitiff  band,  and  in  this  he  was  well  seconded 
by  his  greyhound,  who  "full  bytterly  gan  byte."  But 
Marrocke  got  behind  the  old  knight,  and,  piercing  his  back 
with  a  spear,  killed  him. 

Meanwhile,  the  queen,  having  a  wholesome  dread  of  the 
steward,  fled,  and  hid  herself  in  a  green  grove,  so  that  when 
Marrocke,  after  killing  Sir  Roger,  sought  her,  she  was 
nowhere  to  be  found,  and,  after  hacking  the  knight's  body, 
he  was  fain  to  return  home.  The  queen,  having  mourned 
awhile  over  the  corpse  of  Sir  Roger,  which  the  faithful 
greyhound  would  not  quit,  went  on  her  way  towards 
Hungary,  until  her  condition  forbade  her  to  go  any  farther, 
and,  having  alighted  in  a  forest  and  tied  her  horse  to  a 
tree,  a  boy  was  born  to  her,  which  rilled  her  with  a  deep 
joy,  and,  having  attended  to  it  and  wrapped  it  up  well,  they 
both  fell  asleep. 

A  good  knight  named  Sir  Barnarde  Mausewynge  was 
hunting  the  deer,  and  came  riding  past  where  these  two  lay. 
Alighting  from  his  horse,  he  approached  the  sleeping  lady, 
and  awoke  her,  asking  her  how  she  came  in  that  condition. 
She  told  him  some  portion  of  her  story,  and  then  the  kind 


SIR  TRYAMOURE.  177 

knight  lifted  her  up  courteously,  and,  carrying  the  child, 
led  her  to  his  castle,  where  he  handed  her  over  to  female 
care,  and  she  was  put  to  bed. 

The  child  was  afterwards  christened  Tryamoure,  and  at 
his  baptism  received  many  rich  gifts  from  the  neighbouring 
lords  and  ladies.  And  there  for  some  years  Margarete 
and  her  child  abode. 

Of  her  they  were  never  vvery. 

The  chylde  was  taught  grete  nurture, 

A  mayster  hym  had  under  his  cure 

And  taught  him  curtesye. 

This  chylde  waxed  wonderous  well, 

Of  grete  stature  bothe  fleshe  and  fell, 

Every  man  loved  hym  truely  ; 

Of  his  company  all  folke  were  gladde, 

None  other  cause  in  dede  they  hadde, 

The  chylde  was  gentyll  and  bolde. 

We  left  the  greyhound  by  the  side  of  his  dead  master, 
whose  wounds  he  lay  and  licked,  until  the  body  became 
somewhat  decomposed,  when  he  scratched  a  grave,  and 
dragging  the  corpse  into  it,  covered  it  with  earth  and  moss. 
Neither  heat  nor  cold,  nor  the  winter  storm,  nor  man's 
hand,  could  make  the  faithful  hound  relinquish  his  guard 
over  his  master's  grave,  which  he  quitted  but  once  a  day 
in  order  to  provide  himself  with  food.  And  this  went  on 
for  seven  long  years,  when  the  dog  waxed  old,  and  game 
became  so  scarce  that  one  day  he  sought  food  in  the  king's 
hall,  where  all  the  barons  and  knights  were  set  at  meat ; 
and  having  obtained  it,  he  looked  all  round  as  if  he  sought 

13 


1 7 8  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALR  Y. 

some   one,  and,  being  unable  to  find  him,  he  went  away 
once  more  to  his  master's  grave. 

This  conduct  he  repeated  on  another  day,  and  it  so 
excited  the  king's  curiosity,  that  he  asked  whether  that  was 
not  Sir  Roger's  dog,  who  went  forth  with  the  queen  and 
that  knight ;  remarking  that  if  it  were  so,  they  should  soon 
have  tidings  of  the  pair,  and  ordered  that  he  should  be 
followed  when  next  he  made  his  appearance.  On  his  next 
visit  to  the  royal  hall  the  hound  saw  whom  he  wanted. 
The  false  villain  Marrocke  was  there,  and,  springing  at  his 
throat,  the  dog  bit  it  asunder,  and  thus  ended  the  foul  life 
of  the  caitiff  steward. 

But  than  he  wolde  not  byde, 

For  to  his  grave  he  ranne, 

There  followed  hym  many  a  manne, 

Some  on  hors  and  some  besyde  ; 

And  whan  he  came  wher  his  mayster  was 

He  layde  hym  downe  upon  the  grasse 

And  barked  at  the  menne  agayne. 

There  myght  no  man  hym  from  ye  place  gete, 

And  yet  with  staves  they  dyd  hym  bete 

That  he  was  almost  slayne. 

The  men  returned  and  reported  the  dog's  behaviour  to 
the  king,  whose  acumen  perceived  its  cause — that  Marrocke 
had  slain  Sir  Roger,  and  slandered  the  queen,  and  sent 
them  again,  with  instructions  to  dig.  This  they  did,  and 
found  the  old  knight's  body  in  a  wonderful  state  of  preser- 
vation. They  bore  it  to  the  king,  who  shed  bitter  and 
unavailing  tears  over  it,  and,  as  some  reparation  towards 


SIR  TRYAMOURE.  179 

the  dead,  and  to  his  libelled  and  exiled  queen,  he  had 
Marrocke's  body  drawn  through  the  city  and  then  hanged 
on  a  tree,  that  all  men  might  see  one  that  had  wrought 
such  treason.  Sir  Roger's  body  was  re-interred  in  a  more 
fitting  place,  in  a  sumptuous  manner,  but  the  greyhound 
still  was  faithful  to  his  old  master,  and  kept  guard  over  his 
.ie\v  tomb  until  he  died. 

The  next  thing  the  king  did  was  to  try  and  find  his 
njured  queen  ;  but,  though  he  sent  far  and  near,  he  could 
lear  no  tidings  of  her,  and  for  many  years  he  lived  a  life 
Df  sorrow  and  remorse,  mourning  and  weeping,  for  that  he 
lad  sent  her  forth  innocent  and  misjudged,  and,  worse  than 
ill  else,  was  ignorant  of  her  fate. 

When  Tryamoure  was  fourteen  years  old,  he  excelled  all 
)f  his  age  in  size  and  strength,  in  good  looks,  and  martial 
exercises,  and  it  so  happened  that  at  this  time  died,  at  a 
jreat  age,  the  King  of  Hungary,  leaving  as  his  successor 
lis  daughter  "  Fayre  Elyne,"  who  was  fourteen  years  of 
ige.  The  country  around  was  unquiet,  and  her  counsellors 
tdvised  that  she  should  marry  some  mighty  prince,  who, 
,>y  his  personal  prowess,  might  be  able  to  defend  her 
jdngdom  against  all  comers ;  and  for  that  purpose  a  great 
ousting  was  commanded,  to  take  place  in  six  months'  time, 
vhich  would  sift  the  competitors  for  this  great  prize.  The 
ame  of  this  great  tournament  reached  to  the  ends  of  the 
iivilized  world,  and  lords  and  knights  from  all  parts 
locked  to  Hungary. 


i8o  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Even  Try amoure  heard  of  it,  and  his  youthful  heart  beat 
high,  as  to  what  he  might  accomplish,  could  he  but  be  at 
the  jousting  ;  but  how  could  he  go  thither  without  horse 
or  armour  ? — and  he  pondered  night  and  morn  how  to- 
gratify  his  wish.  At  length  he  bethought  him  of  Syr 
Barnerde,  and  he  boldly  asked  that  knight  to  lend  him 
horse  and  armour,  so  that  he  might  go  to  the  tourney. 
Sir  Barnerde  told  him  that  he  knew  nothing  of  jousting, 
and  was  not  able  to  wield  the  necessary  weapons ;  but  the 
precocious  lad  replying,  that  there  was  no  knowing  what 
he  could  do  till  he  tried,  the  knight's  scruples  gave  way, 
and  he  promised  the  loan  of  arms  and  steed  :  moreover, 
that  he  would  accompany  him.  This  rejoiced  the  lad's 
heart  exceedingly,  but,  when  he  asked  his  mother's  bless- 
ing, there  was  somewhat  of  a  scene  with  that  fond  parent, 
who  for  the  first  time  was  to  be  parted  from  her  darling ; 
but  at  length  she  acquiesced,  and  must  have  felt  proud  of 
her  boy,  who,  when  armed,  and  on  horseback,  looked  every 
inch  a  man. 

So  Sir  Barnerde  and  Tryamoure  rode  to  the  jousting,, 
and  there  took  the  side  of  the  King  of  Arragon,  who  had 
been  attracted  to  the  jousts,  not  knowing  that  he  was  the 
boy's  father.  Needless  to  say  that  Tryamoure  overthrew 
every  knight  opposed  to  him,  and  Sir  Barnerde  failed  not,. 
on  every  such  event,  to  shout  "A  Tryamoure!  A  Trya- 
moure!" calling  special  attention  to  our  hero's  prowess.  He 
even  had  a  course  with  his  father,  and  unhorsed  him.  In. 


SIR  TRYAMOURE.  181 

short,  he  was  the  hero  of  the  tournament,  having  kept 
the  lists  against  all  comers  for  three  days,  and  was  there- 
fore entitled  to  the  hand  and  lands  of  the  fair  Elyne,  who 
looked  upon  him  with  decided  eyes  of  favour. 

But,  among  the  knights  he  had  overthrown  was  Sir 
James,  son  of  the  Emperor  of  Germany  ;  and,  as  he  left 
the  lists,  Sir  James  laid  wait  for  him  privily,  and  riding 
at  Tryamoure,  with  a  spear,  pierced  his  thigh,  and  almost 
killed  him  ;  but  Tryamoure  had  strength  enough  left  to 
strike  him  one  blow,  which  made  Sir  James  a  corpse. 
The  German  prince's  followers  immediately  set  upon 
Tryamoure,  and  it  would  have  gone  hard  with  him,  had  not 
King  Aradas,  by  a  lucky  chance,  come  up  and  rescued  him. 

Sir  Barnerde  saw  him  home,  but,  when  Queen  Margarete 
beheld  her  wounded  darling,  she  fainted,  and,  on  her 
recovery,  sensibly  sent  for  a  doctor. 

Meanwhile  the  morrow  came,  but  with  it  no  victor  to 
claim  his  prize,  as  should  have  been  ;  and  the  lords  and 
knights  who  were  assembled,  begged  the  princess  to  choose 
from  among  them,  as  Tryamoure  had  not  thought  it  worth 
while  to  exercise  his  right.  They  sought  right  and  left 
for  him,  and  all  supposed  he  had  ridden  home.  But  the 
princess  had  seen  quite  enough  of  him  to  love  him,  and,  in 
spite  of  all  the  pressure  put  upon  her  by  the  lords  and 
knights,  she  would  have  none  of  them,  nor  would  she 
make  a  choice  among  them  until  a  year  had  passed.  To 
this  they  were  fain  to  accede,  and  so  they  rode  their 


182  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

different  ways,   leaving   the   fair   Elyne   more   bent   than 
ever  on  having  Tryamoure  for  her  husband. 

Sir  James's  men  bore  the  corpse  of  their  master  to  his 
father's  court,  and,  in  reply  to  the  emperor's  question, 
they  could  only  tell  him  that  the  name  of  him  who  had 
slain  his  son  was  Tryamoure,  but  where  he  dwelt  they 
knew  not  ;  but  of  this  they  were  certain,  that  the  King  of 
Arragon  came  and  helped  him  against  themselves  ;  and 
the  emperor,  sore  at  his  son's  death,  vowed  vengeance  on 
both  of  them.  He  gathered  together  a  great  array,  and 
marched  on  Arragon,  and,  the  king  having  fled  to  a  strong 
castle,  he  lay  siege  to  it.  In  those  days,  however,  sieges 
took  time,  especially  if  the  defenders  behaved  like  Aradas, 
who  treated  the  besiegers 

With  gounes  z  and  grete  stones  rounde 
Were  throwen  downe  to  the  groimde, 
And  on  the  men  were  caste, 
They  brake  many  backes  and  bones  ; 
Thus  they  fought  every  daye  ones 
Whyle  seven  wekes  did  laste. 

Neither  side  cared  about  this,  and  King  Aradas  sent 
two  lords  to  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  to  try  and  nego- 
tiate a  peace.  They  told  the  emperor,  what  was  perfectly 
true,  that  Aradas  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  death  of  his 
son — in  fact  that  he  was  killed  before  the  king  came  up ; 
but,  if  the  emperor  still  felt  aggrieved,  the  king  would 
meet  him  in  single  combat,  and  so  settle  the  matter ;  or, 
1  Engines — such  as  catapults,  £c. 


SIR  TRYAMOURE.  183 

if  that  were  not  agreeable,  it  might  be  arranged  vicariously, 
by  means  of  two  champions.  This  proposition  was  agreed 
to,  a  date  fixed  upon  for  the  combat,  and  a  truce  entered 
into.  The  German  champion  was  a  giant  named  Maradas, 
and  Aradas  put  his  trust  in  procuring  the  assistance  of  the 
doughty  Tryamoure ;  but,  although  he  sent  messengers  all 
ways  in  search  of  him,  no  tidings  of  him  could  be  gathered. 

Meanwhile,  Tryamoure's  wound  had  healed,  and  he  was 
once  more  stout  and  strong,  when  one  day  he  astonished 
his  mother  by  asking  who  his  father  was  ;  but  the  only 
answer  she  gave  him  was,  that  he  should  know  when  he 
married  the  Princess  Elyne.  This  not  satisfying  him,  he 
bade  his  mother  farewell,  as  he  was  going  to  set  out  in 
search  of  adventures.  He  took  the  way  to  Arragon,  and 
was  accompanied  by  three  greyhounds,  with  which  he 
hunted  as  he  rode.  He  was  thus  once  following  a  hart, 
when  he  was  confronted  by  fourteen  foresters,  who  swore 
they  would  hale  him  to  prison,  such  being  the  law  of  that 
land.  But  when  they  began  to  apply  physical  force  to 
enforce  their  argument,  Tryamoure  got  wroth,  and  soon 
killed  some,  wounded  others,  and  the  rest  fled.  He  then 
went  on  in  his  pursuit  of  the  hart,  which  had  slain  two  of  his 
greyhounds,  was  sore  pressing  the  third,  and  would  prob- 
ably have  killed  it  also,  had  not  Tryamoure  come  up,  and 
slain  the  deer  with  a  spear-thrust ;  and,  as  was  customary 
in  venerie,  he  put  his  horn  to  his  lips,  and  blew  a  "  mort." 

King  Aradas  and  his  knights  were  in  hall  when  they 


184  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

heard  the  sound  of  that  horn,  and  were  sorely  wondering 
thereat,  when  in  rushed  a  forester,  who  explained  that 
there  was  a  gentleman  hunting  the  deer,  who  had  beaten 
their  whole  force,  killing  some  and  wounding  others.  The 
king,  whose  thoughts  were  of  a  personal  nature,  for  the 
time  of  finding  a  substitute  had  nigh  run  out,  replied  that 
he  had  great  need  of  such  a  man,  and  bade  them  go  and 
bring  him  in,  using  all  courtesy.  This  was  done,  Trya- 
moure,  on  the  way,  learning  that  he  whom  he  was  about  to 
visit  was  Aradas,  the  King  of  Arragon.  As  soon  as  he 
saw  the  king,  he  recognized  him  ;  but  the  king  took  him 
by  the  hand  and  welcomed  him,  begging  to  know  his 
name.  He  replied  Tryamoure,  and  called  to  the  king's 
recollection  how  he  had  come  to  his  assistance  when  he 
was  in  sore  need.  So  overjoyed  was  Aradas  at  this 
unexpected  rencontre,  that  he  fainted  three  times. 

When  he  had  recovered  himself,  he  poured  into  Trya- 
moure's  listening  ear  the  story  of  his  woes — how  that 
the  very  help  he  had  afforded  him  was  wrought  to  his 
undoing,  for  with  the  death  of  the  emperor's  son  he  had 
nothing  to  do. 

Then  sayd  Tryamoure,  tho 
That  ye  for  me  have  been  greved  so, 
If  I  myght  it  amende, 
And  at  the  daye  of  batyll 
I  trust  to  prove  my  myght  well, 
If  God  will  grace  me  sende. 
Than  was  Kynge  Aradas  very  gladde, 
And  of  Maradas  he  was  not  adradde.1 
1  Afraid. 


SSJ?  TRYAMOURE.  185 

Tryamoure  was  the  king's  guest  until  the  day  of  battle, 
when  he  was  made  a  knight,  and  they  went  together  to 
the  place  of  combat.  It  was  a  fearful  fight,  for  they  were 
evenly  matched,  but  a  blow  of  Tryamoure's  sword  falling 
short,  it  killed  the  giant's  horse.  Maradas  taunted  him — 

...  It  is  great  shame 

On  a  stede  to  wreke  his  game, 

Thou  sholdest  rather  to  smyte  me. 

Tryamoure  alighted  from  his  horse  to  make  the  combat 
more  even,  and,  remembering  that  he  had  only  that  day 
been  made  a  knight,  determined  to  prove  himself  worthy 
of  the  honour,  and  laid  on  with  such  good  will,  that  he 
fairly  tired  out  the  giant,  and,  catching  him  off  his  guard, 
ran  him  through  the  body.  The  emperor,  although  "a  sory 
man,"  made  peace,  according  to  his  compact,  kissed  the 
king  in  token  of  amity,  and,  with  his  army,  wended  his 
way  home.  As,  also,  did  King  Aradas  and  Sir  Tryamoure. 
Needless  to  say,  the  king  dearly  loved  the  knight,  would 
always  have  him  near  him,  and  fain  would  make  him  his 
heir  ;  but  this  Sir  Tryamoure  declined,  as  he  still  remem- 
bered his  princess  in  Hungary.  With  deep  regret,  the 
king  allowed  him  to  depart,  furnishing  him  with  costly 
arms,  and  a  good  steed,  and  so  he  took  his  leave. 

As  he  went  on  his  way,  he  met  a  palmer,  in  a  mountain 
pass,  who  asked  him  for  alms,  which  Sir  Tryamoure  gave 
him,  accompanied  "  with  wordes  swete."  The  grateful 
pilgrim,  in  return,  begged  him  to  turn  back,  as  there  were 


1 86  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

two   giants  guarding  that  pass  ;  but  that   news  seems  to 
have  gladdened  our  hero's  heart,  for 

In  fayth,  sayd  Tryamoure,  yf  there  be  no  mo, 
I  truste  in  God  that  waye  to  go, 

and  continued  on  his  journey,  followed  by  the  prayers  of 
the  palmer. 

When  he  judged  he  had  gone  a  sufficient  distance,  he 
blew  his  horn,  and  had  not  ridden  far,  when  he  saw  two 
giants  on  a  hill,  one  of  whom  rode  towards  him,  whilst  the 
other  stopped  where  he  was.  The  two  met,  and  the  usual 
combat  took  place,  but  it  lasted  so  long  that  the  second 
giant  rose  up,  and,  stopping  the  fight  for  a  while,  said  to 
Sir  Tryamoure, 

So  doughty  a  knyght  knovve  I  none, 

Thy  name  that  thou  us  tell. 

Tryamoure  sayd,  fyrst  will  I  wete  T 

Why  that  you  do  kepe  thys  strete, 

And  where  that  ye  do  dwell. 

They  sayd,  we  had  a  brother  hyght  Maradas, 

With  the  Emperoure  forsothe  he  was. 

A  stronge  man  well  I  knowe 

In  Aragon  before  the  Emperoure, 

A  knight  men  called  hym  Syr  Tryamoure, 

In  batayle  there  hym  slewe. 

And  also  we  say  anoder, 

Burlongee,  our  elder  broder, 

As  a  man  of  muche  myght, 

He  hath  besyeged  sothely 

The  kynges  doughter  of  Houngry, 

To  wedde  her  he  hath  he  hyght ; 

1  Know. 


TRYAMOURE.  187 

And  so  well  hath  he  spedde 
That  he  shall  that  lady  wedde 
But  she  may  fynde  a  knyghte 
That  Burlonge  overcome  maye  ; 
For  that  same  Tryamoure 
Loved  that  lady  par  amoure, 
As  it  is  before  tolde, 
If  he  wyll  to  Houngry 
Nedes  he  muste  come  us  by 
To  mete  with  him  he  wolde. 

When  Sir  Tryamoure  discovered  himself,  the  brother 
giants  were  furious,  and  both  attacked  him.  It  is  useless 
to  follow  the  details  of  the  combat,  but,  in  the  end,  both 
giants  were  slain,  and  the  knight  went  on  his  way.  Nor 
was  he  too  soon,  for  it  was  the  day  appointed  when  the 
giant  Burlonge  was  to  meet  fair  Elyne's  champion.  She, 
poor  lady,  was  in  a  state  of  great  anxiety,  but  she  had 
faith  in  her  lover,  and  said  that  if  he  were  alive  he  would 
surely  come  to  defend  her.  At  that  moment  Sir  Trya- 
moure rode  up,  and  held  a  short  parley  with  Burlonge,  as 
to  their  mutual  willingness  to  fight.  But  Elyne,  although 
she  saw  that  a  champion  had  appeared  on  her  part,  knew 
him  not  until  she  was  told  by  a  herald,  and  then  she  knelt 
in  prayer  for  his  success. 

The  combatants  engaged,  with  the  usual  prelude  of 
shivered  lances ;  and,  when  they  betook  themselves  to 
their  swords,  Sir  Tryamoure  missed  a  stroke,  and  lost  his 
weapon.  Not  being  deficient  in  assurance,  he  asked  that 
he  might  have  it  again,  and  the  giant,  with  unexampled 


i88  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

generosity,  consented,  provided  he  told  his  name.  But 
when  he  heard  it — 

Than,  sayde  Burlonge,  thou  it  was 

That  slewe  my  brother  Maradas, 

A  fayre  happe  then  befell. 

Syr  Tryamoure  sayde  to  hym  tho, 

So  have  I  done  thy  bretherne  two 

That  on  the  mountayne  dyde  dwell. 

Burlonge  sayd,  Wo  may  thou  be, 

For  thou  hast  slayn  my  bretherne  thre, 

Sorowe  hast  thou  sought  ; 

Thy  swerde  getest  thou  never  agayn 

Tyll  I  be  venged,  and  thou  slayne. 

And,  so  saying,  he  aimed  a  mighty  stroke  at  the  knight, 
but  his  feet  slipped,  and  he  fell.  Sir  Tryamoure  instantly 
picked  up  his  sword,  and  cut  off  the  giant's  leg  at  the 
knee,  and  then  tauntingly  told  him  to  stand  up  and  con- 
tinue the  fight.  This,  after  being  furnished  with  a  fresh 
sword,  Burlonge  did,  and,  for  a  time,  fought  upon  his 
stumps ;  but  not  for  long,  for  the  mighty  Tryamoure  cut  off 

his  head. 

Now  is  Burlonge  slayne, 
And  Tryamoure  with  mayne 
Into  the  castell  wente 
To  that  lady  that  was  full  bryght  ; 
And  at  the  gate  she  mette  the  knyght, 
And  in  her  armes  she  him  hente.1 
She  sayd,  Welcome,  Syr  Tryamoure, 
Ye  have  bought  my  love  full  dere, 
My  herte  is  on  you  lente.2 
Then  sayde  all  the  barons  bolde, 
Of  hym  we  will  our  landes  holde, 
And  thereto  they  dyd  assent. 

1  Held,  clasped.  *  Remains  with  you. 


SIR  TRYAMOURE.  189 

There  is  little  more  to  chronicle.  They  named  a  speedy 
day  for  their  marriage,  and  sent  for  Queen  Margarete. 
On  her  arrival,  Tryamoure  claimed  the  fulfilment  of  her 
promise,  that  she  would  tell  him  who  his  father  was  ;  which 
she  did,  and  gave  her  whole  history.  Thereupon  he  wrote 
to  King  Aradas  to  come  to  Hungary,  which  he  did  gladly. 

The  young  folks  were  married,  Sir  Tryamoure  crowned 
King  of  Hungary.  King  Aradas  and  Queen  Margarete 
were  united,  and 

In  joye  togyder  they  ledde  theyr  lyfe 
All  theyr  dayes  withoute  stryfe. 


of 


lotoe  titgte 


Squ\>r  of  lowe  2)egre, 


COPLAND'S  version,  from  which  I  have  taken  this 
Romance,  seems  to  be  the  only  one  now  known. 
It  was  reprinted  by  Ritson,  and  may  also  be  found 
n  Warton's  "  History  of  English  Poetry." 

The  parentage  of  this  Squire  of  low  degree  is  not  given, 
JDUt,  at  the  time  when  this  story  opens,  he  had  served  the 
{King  of  Hungary,  by  whom  he  was  much  liked,  for  seven 
lears,  and  now  held  the  position  of  Marshal  of  the  Royal 
Ball.  He  was  good-looking  and  well  made,  was  liked  by 
ill  men,  and  could  hold  his  own  in  the  lists  ;  but  he 
flourished  a  secret  grief,  and  was  ever  mourning,  but  no 
pan  wist  why. 

I  The  fact  was,  he  was  deeply  in  love  with  the  daughter 
bf  his  master  the  king,  and,  being  a  gentleman  in  feeling, 
tould  confide  his  secret  to  no  man,  so  he  went  about 
rnoping,  and  "ever  he  sayde  wayle  a  waye."  In  this 
[iesperate  condition  of  mind,  he  wandered  one  day  into  the 


194  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

garden,  and,  as  delineations  of  home  life  are  very  scarce  in 
these  Romances,  perhaps  I  may  be  pardoned  for  intro- 
ducing a  description  of  this  place. 

And  in  the  garden,  as  I  wene, 
Was  an  arber  fayre  and  grene  ; 
And  in  the  arber  was  a  tre, 
A  fayrer  in  the  world  might  none  be. 
The  tre  it  was  of  Cypresse,1 
The  fyrst  tre  that  Jesu  chose, 
The  sother 2  wood  and  lykamoure,3 
The  red  rose,  and  the  lyly  floure, 
The  box,  the  beche,  and  the  larel  tre, 
The  date,  also  the  damyse  ; 4 
The  fylbyrdes 5  hangyng  to  the  ground, 
The  fygge  tre  and  the  maple  round  ; 
And  other  trees  there  was  mane  one, 
The  pyany,6  the  popler,  and  the  plane, 
With  brode  braunches  all  aboute, 
Within  the  arber,  and  eke  withoute. 
On  every  braunche  sate  byrdes  thre, 
Syngynge  with  great  melody. 
The  lavorocke  7  and  the  nightyngale, 
The  ruddocke,8  the  woodwele,9 
The  pee,10  and  the  Popinjaye," 
The  thrustle 12  saynge  both  nyght  and  daye  ; 
The  marlyn  13  and  the  wrenne  also, 
The  swalowe  whypping  to  and  fro  ; 
The  jaye  jangled  them  amonge, 
The  larke  began  that  mery  songe  ; 
The  sparowe  spredde  her  on  her  spraye, 
The  mavys  I4  songe  with  notes  full  gaye ; 

1  The  cross  is  said  to  have  been  made  of  three  woods,  of  which  Cypress, 
was  one. 

2  Sothernwood.    3  Sycamore.       4  Damson.  s  Filberts.       6  Peony. 
7  Lark.                  8  Redbreast.       9  Woodpecker.  I0  Pie.  "  Parrot. 

a2  Thrush.  «  The  merlin  hawk.  J4  The  singing  thrush. 


THE  SQUYR  OF  LOWE  DEGRE.  195 

The  nuthake  *  with  her  notes  newe, 
The  sterlynge  set  her  notes  full  trewe  ; 
The  goldfynche  made  full  mery  chere 
When  she  was  bente  upon  a  brere  ; 2 
And  many  other  foules  mo, 
The  osyll 3  and  the  thrush  also. 

Into  this  arbour  went  the  love-lorn  Squire  to  mourn  his 
sad  fate,  and,  presuming  there  were  no  eavesdroppers,  he 
made  his  plaint  aloud.  But  it  happened  that  this  bower 
was  underneath  the  window  of  the  princess's  apartment, 

and 

In  her  oryal 4  there  she  was, 
Closed  well  with  royall  glas, 
Fulfylled  it  was  with  ymagery. 

She  opened  the  window,  and  there  she  saw  the  Squire 
lying  on  the  ground  making  his  moan — how  that  he  loved 
her  dearly,  but,  because  of  his  poverty  and  position,  might 
never  hope  to  wed  her.  So  she  spoke  to  him,  asking  him 
why  he  was  so  mournful,  and  why  he  always  went  about 
so  sadly,  promising  that  whatever  he  told  her  should  be 
held  as  strictly  confidential.  Here  was  an  opportunity, 
and  he  did  not  neglect  it.  He  dropped  on  one  knee,  and 
poured  forth  his  tale  of  passionate  love — how  that,  for 
seven  years,  she  had  been  the  object  of  his  humble  adora- 
tion, and  that  if  she  did  not  give  him  a  word  of  comfort 
he  must  needs  go  away,  and  become  a  hermit. 

The  lady  listened  to  his  tale,  and  told  him  that  she 

1  Nuthatch.  2  Briar.  3  Ousel,  or  blackbird. 

4  Here  the  word  probably  means  a  turret. 


196  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

reciprocated  his  affection  ;  but  that  no  one  must  know  of 
it,  more  especially  the  steward,  or  it  would  be  certain 
death  to  him.  She  bade  him  shake  off  his  melancholy, 
abandon  all  idea  of  turning  hermit,  but  to  go  forth  and  do 
man's  work  in  the  world.  That  if  he  would  win  her,  he 
must  begin  with  chivalry ;  that  he  must  go  into  many 
countries  in  search  of  adventures,  and,  after  fighting  three 
battles,  he  would  be  worthy  of  being  knighted.  That  this 
mode  of  life  was  to  last  for  seven  years,  when  he  was 
to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem,  and  then  return  to 
Hungary,  where,  through  fame  of  his  deeds,  the  king 
would  wed  him  to  her ;  and  that  during  the  whole  of  the 
seven  years  she  would  be  true  to  him.  She  also  would 
see  him  properly  equipped  and  horsed,  with  six  yeomen  to 
ride  with  him  ;  and  she  would  give  him  a  thousand  pounds 
to  start  with,  and  more  when  he  required  it.  The  Squire 
was  profuse  in  his  thanks,  kissed  his  lady  thrice,  and 
departed. 

But  the  king's  steward,  Sir  Maradose,  who  was  both 
false  and  treacherous,  overheard  their  wooing,  and  vowed 
to  be  avenged  on  that  fair  lady,  with  whom  he  himself  was 
in  love — a  passion  which  was  not  returned  by  the  princess. 

Meanwhile,  the  Squire  robed  himself  to  perform  his 
accustomed  duties  for  the  last  time,  serving  the  king  at 
dinner  on  his  knee.  The  king  fed  sumptuously  on 

Deynty  meates  that  were  dere, 
With  partryche,  pecoke  and  plovere, 


THE  SQUYR  OF  LOWE  DEGRE.  197 

With  byrdes  in  bread  y-bake, 
The  tele,  the  ducke,  and  the  drake, 
The  cocke,  the  curlewe,  and  the  crane  ; 
With  fesauntes  fayre  there  were  no  want, 
Both  storkes  and  snytes,  there  were  also, 
And  venyson  freshe  of  bucke  and  do. 

The  king,  however,  ate  nought,  but  gazed  curiously  and 
thoughtfully  upon  his  Squire,  thinking  of  the  singular  tale 
Sir  Maradose,  his  steward,  had  told  him — of  what  he  had 
overheard,  with  the  addition  of  a  criminal  liaison  between 
the  Squire  and  the  Princess.  The  king  had  not  believed 
the  story,  and  had  told  his  steward  that  if  his  daughter 
loved  the  Squire,  and  he  could  prove  himself  worthy  of  her, 
he  saw  no  objection  to  their  union  ;  and  that,  if  he  found 
that  the  steward  had  defamed  them  for  envy's  sake,  he 
would  imprison  him  for  twelve  years,  and  then  hang  him. 

The  steward  had  asseverated  the  truth  of  his  story,  and 
added,  that  if  the  king  would  but  give  him  a  sufficient 
force  of  men,  he  would  take  the  Squire  that  night,  in  his 
daughter's  chamber.  The  king  had  still  disbelieved  Sir 
Maradose,  but  promised  him  thirty  men  at  arms,  on  con- 
dition, that  if  the  Squire  did  not  enter  the  lady's  chamber, 
he  was  not  to  be  touched,  nor  even  if  he  kissed  her,  "  so 
that  it  be  done  courteously  ; "  but  only,  if  he  came  with  a 
company  "  for  to  betraye  that  fayre  ladye,"  then  was  he  to 
be  seized,  and  brought  to  the  king's  presence. 

These  thoughts,  then,  were  in  the  king's  mind  as  he 
looked  upon  his  Squire,  whom  he  trusted  and  loved,  and  he 


198  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

was  not  surprised  when,  after  dinner,  the  Squire  waited  on 
him,  and,  on  bended  knee,  asked  him — 

As  ye  are  lorde  of  chyvalry, 

Give  me  leve  to  passe  the  sea 

To  prove  my  strengthe  with  my  ryght  hande 

On  Codes  enemyes  in  uncouth  land. 

And  to  be  knowe  in  chyvalry 

In  Gascoyne,  Spayne  and  Lumbardy  • 

In  eche  batayle  for  to  fyght 

To  be  proved  a  venterous  knyght. 

The  kyng  said  to  the  squyer  tho 

Thou  shalt  have  good  leve  to  go, 

I  shall  the  gyve  both  golde  and  fe 

And  strength  of  men  to  wende  with  thee, 

If  thou  be  true  in  worde  and  dede, 

I  shall  the  helpe  in  all  thy  nede. 

He  let  no  grass  grow  under  his  feet,  for  he  collected  his 
men  and  set  forth  at  once  ;  but  he  had  scarcely  ridden 
over  a  mile,  when  they  came  to  a  village,  and  there  he 
proposed  that  they  should  sup,  and  stay  the  night.  But, 
at  supper,  he  remembered  that  he  had  not  bidden  the 
princess  farewell,  so  he  started  off  alone  to  do  this  act  of 
courtesy.  He  entered  the  castle,  and  went  straight  to  his 
lady's  chamber,  not  witting  that  Sir  Maradose,  and  his 
force,  were  lying  in  wait  for  him  close  by.  He  knocked  at 
her  door,  and  conjured  her  to  open  it,  but  she,  wrapping 
herself  in  a  mantle  of  cloth  of  gold,  "  she  sayd,  go  away 
thou  wicked  wyght,"  and  utterly  refused  to  open  the  door  ; 

but  when 

I  am  your  owne  squyr,  he  said, 
For  me  lady  be  not  dysmayde, 


THE  SQUYR  OF  LOWE  DEGRE.  199 

Come  I  am  full  pryvely 

To  take  my  leave  of  you,  lady  ; 

then  she  let  him  in,  premising  that  it  was  only  in  order 
to  "  give  him  kysses  thre,  and  a  thousande  pounde  unto 
your  fe,"  begging  him  to  go  forth,  and  be  an  adventurous 
knight.  Whilst  they  were  thus  speaking,  his  enemies 
were  approaching,  and  all  set  on  him  at  once  ;  but  he 
slew  seven  of  them,  and  also  the  villain  steward,  before  he 
was  overpowered.  His  captors  stripped  him  of  his 
garments,  in  which  they  arrayed  the  dead  steward,  whose 
features  they  gashed,  so  as  to  be  unrecognizable,  and 
deposited  outside  the  princess's  door.  They  bore  him, 
unhurt,  before  the  king,  who,  telling  him  that  as  he  wished 
to  be  his  son,  he  would  take  care  of  him  for  seven  years  ; 
and  so  sent  him  to  prison. 

When  the  princess  saw  the  dead  body,  which  she  imagined 
to  be  that  of  her  lover,  she  made  a  great  moan. 

And  in  her  armes  she  toke  hym  there, 
Into  the  chamber  she  dyd  hym  bere  ; 
His  bowels  soon  she  dyd  outdrawe, 
And  buryed  them  in  Godde's  lawe  ; 
She  sered  *  that  body  with  specery, 
With  vyrgin  wax  and  commendry,2 
And  closed  him  in  a  maser 3  tre, 
And  set  on  hym  lockes  thre  ; 
She  put  him  in  a  marble  stone 
With  quanyt  gynnes  4  many  one, 

1  Embalmed — wrapped  it  in  a  case,  or  waxed  cloth. 

2  Commendationes,  or  offices  for  the  dead. 

3  A  hard-wood  tree.     Wooden  bowls  were  termed  maser  bowls. 
Fastenings. 


200  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALR  Y. 

And  set  hym  at  hir  beddes  head, 

And  every  day  she  kyst  that  dead. 

Soone  at  morne  when  she  up  rose 

Unto  that  dead  body  she  gose, 

Therfore  wold  she  knele  downe  on  her  kne 

And  make  her  prayer  to  the  trynite, 

And  kysse  that  body  twyse  or  thryse 

And  fall  in  a  swowne  or  she  myght  ryse. 

Whan  she  had  so  done, 

To  churche  then  wolde  she  gone, 

Than  wolde  she  here  masses  fyve 

And  offer  to  them  whyle  she  myght  lyve  ; 

There  none  shall  knowe  but  heven  kynge 

For  whom  that  I  make  myne  offrynge. 

The  king  could  but  notice  his  daughter's  sadness,  and 
spoke  to  her  about  it  in  a  most  kindly  and  fatherly  way  ; 
asking  her  the  reason  why  she,  who  was  wont  to  be  the 
merriest  of  all  the  court,  was  now  so  sad,  and  also  why 
she,  who  used  to  be  decked  according  to  her  rank,  now 
went  about  in  mourning  weeds  :  and  he  promised  to  gratify 
her  every  taste,  if  she  would  but  rouse  herself  and  shake 
off  the  melancholy  that  oppressed  her  :  but  all  he  could 
get  from  her  was — 

Gramercy,  father,  so  mote  I  the, 
For  all  these  thynges  lyketh  not  me. 
Unto  her  chamber  she  is  gone 
And  fell  in  sowning  sore  anone, 
With  much  sorow  and  sighing  sore, 
Yet  seven  yeare  she  kept  hym  there. 

The  Squire  was,  as  we  have  seen,  put  in  prison,  but  the 
king  soon  came  to  hear  of  the  truth,  and  went  to  him 
privily,  and,  bidding  him  to  keep  his  counsel,  told  him  he 


THE  SQUYR  OF  LOWE  DEGRE.  201 

was  free,  and  might  go  across  the  sea  as  originally  intended, 
and  that  when  his  journeying  should  be  done,  he  was  to 
come  to  the  king's  chamber  ;  and  the  king,  being  fully 
satisfied  of  his  Squire's  innocence,  promised  that  he  should 
have  his  daughter's  hand  and  be  his  successor.  Moreover, 
the  king  supplied  him  with  ample  funds,  and  the  Squire 
went  forth  "  full  mery  "  ;  but  none  knew  of  it  save  himself 
and  the  king.  He  made  himself  famous  by  his  deeds  of 
arms  in  Tuscany,  Lombardy,  and  Portugal ;  and  then,  the 
seven  years  having  expired,  he  went  to  Jerusalem,  made 
his  offerings  there,  and  returned  to  Hungary.  When  he 
detailed  his  adventures,  the  king  was  delighted,  and 
welcomed  him  warmly,  charging  him,  however,  to 

Let  none  wete  of  my  menne  I 
That  out  of  prison  thou  shouldest  be, 
But  in  my  chamber  holde  the  styll 
And  I  shall  wete  my  doughter's  wyll. 

So  he  went  to  see  his  daughter,  but,  passing  under  her 
window,  he  heard  her  complaining  ;  and,  as  he  stopped 
and  listened,  thus  he  heard  her  addressing  the  supposed 
body  of  her  beloved  Squire — 

Alas,  then  sayd  that  lady  dere, 
I  have  the  kept  this  seven  yere, 
And  now  ye  be  in  powder  small, 
I  may  no  longer  holde  you  withall. 
My  love,  to  the  earth  I  shall  the  bring, 
And  preestes  for  you  to  reade  and  synge. 
Yf  any  man  aske  me  what  I  have  here, 
I  will  say  it  is  my  treasure  ; 

1  Let  none  of  my  household  know. 


202  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

If  any  man  aske  why  I  do  so, 
For  no  theves  shall  come  thereto. 
And,  squyer,  for  the  love  of  thee 
Fy  on  this  worldes  vanyte  ; 
Farewell  golde,  pure  and  fyne, 
Farewell  velvet  and  satyne  ; 
Farewell  castelles  and  maners  also, 
Farewell  huntynge  and  hawkynge  to  ; 
Farewell  all  revell,  myrthe,  and  play, 
Farewell  pleasure  and  garmentes  gay  ; 
Farewell  perle  and  precyous  stone, 
Farewell  my  juilles  everych  one  ; 
Farewell  mantell  and  scarlet  red, 
Farewell  crowne  unto  my  head  ; 
Farewell  hawkes  and  farewell  hounde, 
Farewell  markes  and  many  a  pounde  ; 
Farewell  huntynge  at  the  hare, 
Farewell  harte  and  hynde  for  evermare. 
Now  will  I  take  the  mantell  and  ye  rynge, 
And  become  an  ancresse  *  in  my  lyuynge. 

But  her  father  spoke  to  her,  and  told  her  she  must  think 
of  no  such  things,  but  put  off  her  mourning,  for  she  must 
wed  a  knight ;  but  this  she  utterly  refused  for  any  con- 
sideration on  earth.  Then  her  father  told  her  all— how  that 
she  had  been  weeping  over,  and  bewailing  the  body  of 
the  treacherous  steward,  Sir  Maradose.  She  very  gently 
upbraided  him. 

Alas,  father,  anone  she  sayde, 
Why  hath  this  traytour  me  betraid  ? 
Alas,  she  sayd,  I  have  great  wrong 
That  I  have  kept  him  here  so  long. 
Alas,  father,  why  dyye 2  so, 
Ye  might  have  warned  me  of  my  fo  ; 

1  Anchoresse — a  female  Anchorite  or  Hermit.  2  Do  ye. 


THE  SQUYR  OF  LOWE  DEGRE.  203 

And  ye  had  told  me  who  it  had  be, 
My  love  had  never  been  dead  for  me. 

So  saying  she  fainted,  and  her  father,  when  she  had  come 
to,  told  her  that  her  love  was  alive,  and  in  the  castle. 
Naturally,  she  was  eager  to  see  him,  and  she  was  soon 
gratified.  The  meeting  can  be  better  imagined  than 
described.  The  Squire  was  made  knight  and  lord,  and 

Ther  was  myrth  and  melody, 
With  harpe,  getron,1  and  sautry, 
With  rote,2  ribible,3  and  clockarde,4 
With  pypes,  organs,  and  bumbarde  ; 
With  other  mynstrelles  them  amonge, 
With  sytolphe 5  and  with  sautry  songe, 
With  fidle,  recorda,6  and  dowcemere,7 
With  trompette  and  with  claryon  clere, 
And  dulcet  pipes  of  many  cordes. 

The  wedding  was  soon  arranged.  All  the  nobility  of 
Hungary  were  bidden  to  come  to  it,  and  the  revels 
consequent  on  it  lasted  forty  days  :  after  which,  the  king 
led  the  quondam  squire  into  the  midst  of  his  barons,  and 
then  and  there  abdicated  in  his  favour  ;  and,  afterwards 

That  yong  man  and  ye  quene  his  wyfe, 
With  joy  and  blysse  they  led  theyr  lyfe. 

1  Cithern  or  zithern.  2  Rote — a  sort  of  cymbal. 

3  Ribible— a  kind  of  fiddle.  4  Probably  hand  bells. 

5  A  small  psalterium  with  strings  placed  over  a  sound  board. 

6  A  kind  of  flageolet.  7  Dulcimer. 


fetoaxme. 


IkniQbt  of  tbe  Swanne, 

THIS   very   pretty   Romance  is   somewhat  general. 
According  to  Sir  Francis  Palgrave,  the  oldest  form 
in    which    it    appears,   is    in    the   "  Chronicle    of 
Tongres  "  by  the  Maitre  de  Gziise.     It  is  incorporated  in 
the  German  Romance  of  "  Lohengrin,"  and  there  is  even 
an    Icelandic   Saga   of  Helis   the   Knight   of  the   Swan, 
wherein  Julius  Caesar  is  said  to  be  his  father. 

In  the  British  Museum  are  two  MSS.  of  this  Romance, 
both  of  fifteenth  century,  one  on  vellum  and  one  on  paper. 
Ames  says  there  was  a  copy  printed  on  parchment  by 
Wynkyn  de  Worde,  1512;  but  I  have  taken  mine  from  one 
printed  by  Copland,  in  the  British  Museum,  which  is 
believed  to  be  unique,  and  which  was  translated  by  the 
order  of  Edward  Duke  of  Buckingham  (beheaded  on 
Tower  Hill,  i;th  May,  1521),  who  claimed  to  be  lineally 
descended  from  Helyas. 

In  the  kingdom  of  Lilefort,  or  Strong  Island,  reigned  a 


2o8  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

king  named  Pieron,  who  had  to  wife  the  Princess 
Matabrune,  the  daughter  of  a  neighbouring  king,  who  had 
been  constantly  at  war  with  the  kingdom  of  Lilefort  ;  and, 
by  this  marriage,  the  feud  was  healed.  This  couple  had 
but  one  son,  named  Oriant,  and  he  grew  up  to  be  a  most 
discreet  and  able  prince,  succeeding  to  his  father's  throne 
on  his  decease. 

Fond  of  all  manly  sports,  he  indulged  in  the  princely 
pastime  of  hunting,  and,  one  day,  his  greyhounds  started  a 
great  hart,  which  led  them  a  long  chase,  gaining  safety  at 
last,  and  escaping  the  king  and  his  hounds,  by  leaping  into 
the  river.  The  king  gave  up  all  idea  of  pursuit,  and 
returned  homewards;  but,  feeling  hot  and  tired,  he  dis- 
mounted by  the  side  of  a  fountain,  and  having  tied  his 
horse  to  a  tree,  sat  himself  down  to  rest. 

He  had  not  been  there  long,  when  "  there  came  to  him 
a  yonge  damoysel,  moche  grevous  and  of  noble  maintene, 
named  Beatrice,  accompanied  of  a  noble  knight  and  two 
squires,  with  iiii  damoyselles,  the  which  she  held  in  her 
service  and  famyliarite."  This  lady  held  all  the  lands 
thereabouts  in  signorie  from  King  Oriant,  but  had  never 
yet  seen  her  feudal  superior  :  so  she  began  their  interview 
with  reproving  the  stranger  for  hunting  on  her  ground, 
telling  him  that,  even  if  he  had  taken  the  hart,  he  should 
not  have  kept  it,  and  that  he  should  make  her  some 
recompense  before  he  should  be  allowed  to  depart.  The 
king,  who  was  so  smitten  by  her  charms  that  he  fell 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWANNE. 


209 


desperately  in  love  with  her  at  first  sight,  replied  very 
graciously  to  her,  saying  that  he  would  not  knowingly 
have  done  anything  to  give  her  displeasure,  and  that,  if  he 
thought  he  had  done  her  any  damage,  even  to  the  extent 
of  a  farthing,  he  would  recompense  her  ;  but  that  as  he  was 
King  Oriant,  and  she  merely  held  under  him,  he  thought 
he  had  a  fair  right  to  hunt  on  his  own  land. 


When  they  heard  who  the  stranger  huntsman  was, 
the  knight,  who  was  with  the  lady  Beatrice,  kneeled  down, 
and  did  obeisance  for  her  to  the  king,  begging  his  pardon, 
because  she  knew  him  not.  "Then  answered  the  kynge 
to  him  and  said,  Know  ye,  noble  knight,  that  I  accept 
ynoughe  the  excuse  that  ye  have  made  for  your  noble  lady. 
But  she  shall  make  me  amendes  in  suche  maner  as  shal  be 

15 


210  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

agreeable,  for  the  beaute  and  formosite  of  her  noble 
persone  moveth  me  to  be  her  husbande,  and  to  take  her 
to  wife  and  spouse,  the  which  is  my  whole  desire." 

But,  autocratic  as  was  the  monarch,  he  did  not  think 
that  the  mere  expression  of  his  wish  was  sufficient  for  the 
lady,  and,  therefore,  he  commenced  to  woo  her,  in  a  style 
somewhat  differing  from  the  love-making  of  this  nineteenth 
century,  but  so  quaint  and  curious,  and  presenting  such  a 
picture  of  the  courteous  manners  of  that  time,  that  even  at 
the  risk  of  being  somewhat  wearisome,  I  give  the  brief 
courtship  in  extenso. 

"  Than  the  king  began  for  to  speake  in  this  maner,  and 
sayd,  Gentil  damoysell,  pleasaunt,  vertuous,  garnished  of 
al  beaute,  in  whome  I  have  totali  set  the  love  of  my  herte, 
is  it  not  wel  your  wil  that  I  be  your  husband.  Pleaseth  it 
you  not  to  be  my  wife  to  th'ende  that  I  make  you  to  be 
crowned  as  quene  and  lady  of  Lilefort.  May  ye  finde  in 
your  hert  by  suche  maner  to  accomplishe  my  wil,  that  you 
and  I  might  be  assembled  and  conjonct  by  marriage. 
Answere  ye  nowe  and  say  your  advise. 

"  Ha  sir,  saide  she  right  humblye,  I  am  not  digne J  ne 
suffisaunt  that  ye  do  to  me  suche  honour,  for  the  hand- 
maiden or  subjecte  ought  not,  ne  maye  not,  in  any  thynge 
compare  to  her  prence  and  lorde.  But  sitte  it  pleaseth 
you  to  commaund  me  so  to  doo,  in  disparsinge  to  me  of 
your  grace,  I  wer  right  simple  and  evil  instruct  if  I  refused 

1  Worthy. 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWANNE. 


211 


your  pleasure,  and  the  excellent  honour  that  ye  so 
benignely  and  of  your  goodnesse  unto  me  present.  For  if 
it  should  please  you  to  marry  me  to  the  least  knight  of 
your  noble  company,  yet  ought  I  to  consent  of  right. 
Wherfore  to  you  that  is  my  lorde,  and  to  other  incom- 
parable, I  am  all  redy  to  obey  and  accept  your  good  and 


noble  wil  in  the  honour  wherto  ye  require  me,  the  which 
with  good  hert  I  ottroye  r  and  graunt  you. 

"And  than  King  Oriant  tookeherby  thehandeand  said, 
Certes  lady  I  promise  you  on  the  faith  of  knighthood,  that 
as  long  as  ye  be  on  live 2  never  to  espouse  any  other 
woman  than  you,  and  I  assure  you  even  here  that  I  shal 
be  your  husbande. 

"  And  thus  bi  a  comin  accorde,  and  by  the  consentement 

1  Utter,  to  give.  2  Alive. 


212  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

of  them  bothe,  was  promised  the  saide  manage  with  one 
cordiall  love." 

The  king,  at  once,  took  her  with  him  to  Lilefort,  riding 
along  together,  in  pleasant  companionship,  in  that  sweet 
May-tide.  Arrived  at  the  palace,  his  first  care  was  to- 
introduce  his  fair  betrothed  to  his  mother,  and  begged  of  her 
to  treat  her  kindly.  For  there  was  a  look  in  Matabrune's 
face,  the  reverse  of  welcome  to  the  bride,  and  she  plainly 
told  the  king  that  such  a  match  was  beneath  his  dignity,, 
when  he  might  ask  the  hand  of  the  richest  and  most  noble 
princess  on  earth.  But  he  gave  her  plainly  to  understand 
that  it  was  his  will  and  determination,  and  the  crafty  old 
queen  consented  with  her  lips,  but  in  her  heart  she  hated 
the  fair  Beatrice. 

Next  day  the  marriage  was  celebrated  with  great 
solemnity,  and  the  feasting  and  merrymaking  was  continued 
for  many  days,  but  the  chronicler  relates  of  the  dowager 
queen  :  "And  yf  she  made  ani'chere  at  the  said  feast  it 
was  bi  false  semblant  and  manere  of  doinge,  for  unjustly 
and  wrongfully  she  conspired  alway  some  evil  upon  the 
noble  quene  Beatrice." 

The  king  loved  his  bride  so  dearly  that  he  attended  not 
sufficiently  to  the  affairs  of  his  kingdom,  a  fact  of  which 
his  enemies  took  speedy  cognizance  ;  and  things  came  to 
such  a  pass,  that  he  was  compelled  to  abandon  his  life  of 
enervating  uxoriousness,  buckle  on  his  arms,  and  take  the 
field  against  his  foes.  It  was  a  hard  task  to  part  from  his 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWANNE.  213 

dear  wife,  but  he  left  her,  as  he  thought,  in  good  hands,  for 
he  had  given  his  mother,  Queen  Matabrune,  strict  charge 
respecting  her,  and  she  had  promised  to  treat  her  as  her  ' 
daughter,  and  better  than  herself :  but  her  "  wordes  were 
not  accordaunt  to  her  dedes,  for  they  were  al  but  abuse 
and  false  simulation." 

The  queen  was  enceinte,  and  the  wicked  old  woman  took 
occasion  of  her  condition  to  wreak  her  spite  and  malice 
upon  her.  She  interviewed  the  midwife  that  would  be  in 
attendance  upon  Beatrice,  and  promised  to  richly  reward 
her,  as  well  as  provide  for  her  family,  if  she  would  only 
follow  out  the  instructions  she  would  give  her.  The  sage- 
femme,  dazzled  by  the  bait,  promised  compliance,  and  a 
most  villainous  plot  was  hatched  by  these  two  worthies. 
At  her  confinement  the  queen  bore  six  sons  and  one 
daughter,  each  of  whom  came  into  the  world  with  a  silver 
collar  or  chain  around  its  neck ;  and,  whilst  the  young  queen 
was  unconscious,  the  children  were  taken  away  by  the 
cruel  mother-in-law,  who  substituted  in  their  stead  seven 
new-born  puppies.1 

When  the  queen  recovered  her  senses,  she  heard 
Matabrune  and  the  midwife  talking  of  this  strange 
occurrence,  and,  when  she  asked  to  see  her  child,  they 
showed  her  the  seven  puppies,  upbraiding  her  with  the 
unnatural  birth.  The  queen,  amazed,  and  unable  to 
contradict  their  assertions,  found  a  refuge  in  sobbing  and 
weeping,  thinking  it  a  direct  visitation  from  God  for  some 

1  See  next  page. 


2I4 


ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY, 


sin  she  had  committed,  and  hoping  that  it  might  be 
condoned  by  her  leading  the  remainder  of  her  life  in  some 
convent,  in  religious  exercises  and  penances.  The  false  old 
queen  tried  to  comfort  her  by  the  assurance  that  the  king 
should  never  know  of  it,  determining,  all  the  time,  to  tell 
him  as  soon  as  he  returned  home. 

The  next  thing  Matabrune  had  to  do,  was  to  get  rid  of 


the  seven  children,  and  to  this  end  she  called  to  her  her 
secretary  Markes,  and,  first  reminding  him  that  he  owed  all 
his  fortunes  to  her,  told  him  that  therefore  it  behoved  him 
to  do  her  bidding.  Markes  replied  that  it  was  but  his 
duty  to  do  whatever  she  commanded,  and  the  wily  old 
dame  then  told  him  that  the  queen  had  borne  seven 
children,  all  of  whom  came  into  the  world  with  silver  chains 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWANNE.  215 

about  their  necks,  and  that  this  was  something  so  abnormal, 
that  she,  fearing  they  might  become  murderers  and  thieves, 
thought  they  ought  to  be  drowned,  or  killed,  at  once,  rather 
than  grow  up  and  do  evil ;  adding,  that  she  had  persuaded 
the  queen  that  she  had  given  birth  to  seven  puppies. 
Markes,  of  course,  undertook  the  commission,  and  promised 
that  nothing  should  ever  be  heard  of  the  babes. 

He  mounted  his  horse,  having  the  little  ones  wrapped 
in  his  mantle,  rode  about  ten  miles  from  the  city,  and 
entered  a  forest,  when  he  thought  he  would  dismount  and 
see  how  the  children  fared.  They  were  fair  to  look  upon, 
and,  as  he  thought  upon  them,  he  considered  that  as  they 
had  made  their  appearance  into  the  world  wearing  those 
collars,  perhaps  God  had  ordained  them  to  come  to  wealth 
and  honour ;  and,  when  the  babes  laughed  and  crowed  to 
him,  he  could  no  longer  steel  his  heart  to  drown  or  kill 
them,  but  determined  to  adopt  a  middle  course  by 
abandoning  them  to  their  fate,  trusting  to  Providence  to 
protect  them.  And  thus  he  addressed  them  :  "  Alas, 
poore  chyldren,  it  greveth  me  sore  for  to  leve  you  here  in 
this  place  as  desolate,  wandred  and  habandoned  of  your 
blode.  But  I  hope  that  He  that  hath  willed  to  creat  and 
fourme  you  to  your  good  mothers  body,  wil  not  leve  you 
dispurveyed,  and  fare  ye  wel,  to  God  I  commaunde  you, 
children,  for  I  shal  se  you  nevermore.  And  thus  amyably 
took  the  said  Markes  leve  of  the  til  Htle  children,  the 
which,  at  his  departing,  took  theym  in  his  armes  and 


216 


ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 


pitiousli  kissed  them  in  weping  tenderly  with  salte  teres.' 
He  then  returned,  and  told  Matabrune  that  he  had  hewed 
them  in  pieces,  and  cast  them  into  the  river. 

Meanwhile,   the   babes    were    in    somewhat    evil    case, 
"  dolorouslye  wayling,  and  as  all  dead  for  honger,"  when 


providentially,  a  hermit  named  Helias,  who  lived  in  the 
forest,  passed  by  that  way,  and,  weeping  with  pity  and 
compassion,  he  bore  them  to  his  little  hermitage,  and  there 
warmed  them  and  fed  them  as  best  he  could.  But  the  care 
of  such  a  family  not  coming  within  the  scope  of  the  general 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWANNE.  217 

daily  life  of  hermits,  he  prayed  for  Divine  help  in  this,  to 
him,  novel  situation  ;  and,  incontinently,  his  prayer  was 
heard,  "  for  miraculously  there  came  into  his  house  a  fayre 
white  goat,  the  wiche  benignely  came  nere  to  the  fott  little 
children  in  presenting  to  them  her  milke,  and  ther  she  gave 
them  sucke  naturally  as  their  nource.  .  .  .  And  thus  this 
white  goate  gave  milke  sufficiently  to  them,  and  than 
retourned  to  the  wood.  And  so  longe  she  gave  them  souke 
that  they  began  to  gro  and  waxe  somewhat  stronge,  and 
folowed  her  in  the  woude  and  about  the  hermitage." 

"  Whan  the  forsaid  children  were  come  to  age  of 
puerilete  the  devoute  hermite  Helyas  made  and  appropryed 
to  eche  of  them  a  cote  of  leves  of  the  trees,  or  of  suche  as 
he  coulde  get.  And  so  they  were  playing  within  the 
forest,  where  as  thei  gathered  fruite  to  eate  with  theyr 
bread,  for  in  that  pointe  were  they  nourished  under  the 
grace  of  God,  and  by  the  dylygence  of  the  good  hermete, 
which  with  good  herte  administred  the  bread  of  the 
almesses  *  given  him." 

King  Oriant  returned  home  victorious  over  his  enemies, 
and  Matabrune,  accompanied  by  the  midwife,  went  to  meet 
him.  She  told  her  tale,  with  artful  embellishments,  and 
the  midwife  corroborated  all  she  said,  so  that  the  king 
must  needs  believe  them  ;  and  he  grieved  sorely,  so  that 
when  he  was  come  to  his  palace  "  he  was  so  inwardli  dis- 
comforted that  he  laide  him  on  a  bedde,  where  as  he  fell 

1  Alms. 


218  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

on  slepe  for  sorow  and  melancoly."  Beatrice,  who,  on  her 
side,  was  also  deeply  sorrowing,  was  informed  by  a  squire 
of  what  her  mother-in-law  had  done  ;  and,  knowing  that  it 
was  of  no  use  to  welcome  her  husband  home,  she  spent 
her  time  in  praying  to  the  Virgin  for  strength  and  assist- 
ance in  this  her  time  of  trial. 

The  king  assembled  his  council,  to  inform  them  of  his 
grief,  and  to  ask  their  opinion  as  to  what  should  be  done 
to  the  queen.  The  bishop  spoke  first,  and  his  advice  was 
that  she  should  be  kept  in  honourable  durance,  and  be 
judged  by  God,  by  which  means  the  truth  would  ultimately 
be  made  manifest.  A  knight  then  expressed  his  opinion 
that  she  should  be  burnt ;  but  this  was  utterly  repugnant  to 
the  king's  feelings,  and  he  agreed  with  the  bishop.  And 
it  was  so  settled,  that  she  should  be  kept  under  the  super- 
vision of  two  knights,  and  treated  well  in  every  respect. 
For  this  treatment  she  was  very  thankful,  and  spent  her 
time  in  religious  exercises. 

Meanwhile  how  did  the  children  fare?  The  good  hermit 
baptized  them,  and  they  roamed  freely  in  the  forest,  bare- 
legged and  footed,  clad  only  in  their  little  coats  of  green 
leaves.  Then  it  came  to  pass  that  a  Yeoman  of  the  Hunt, 
named  Savary,  was  hunting  in  the  forest,  when  he  came 
npon  seven  children,  each  with  a  silver  chain  round  its 
neck,  gathering  wild  apples,  which  they  ate  with  bread. 
He  spoke  to  them,  but  they  stared  at  him  and  ran  away  ; 
he  pursued  them  until  they  took  refuge  in  the  hermitage, 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWANNE.  219 

when  the  old  hermit  appeared,  and  begged  of  him  to  do 
them  no  harm.  Savary  was  naturally  curious,  and,  in 
answer  to  his  questions,  he  told  him  the  children's  history, 
as  far  as  he  knew  it. 

The  huntsman  guessed  who  they  were,  and,  on  his  return, 
informed  Matabrune  of  what  he  had  seen.  She,  too,  recog- 
nized the  situation,  and  sent  for  Markes  ;  and,  full  of  mad- 
ness and  fury,  "  put  out  his  eyen,  and  handled  him  so  that 
many  wened  *  that  he  had  been  dead."  She  thought  she 
had  a  more  unscrupulous  tool  in  the  huntsman,  and  there- 
fore she  commanded  him  to  go  into  the  forest  and  slay  the 
children,  promising  him  great  reward. 

He  set  out  with  six  companions,  but  on  their  way  they 
saw  a  great  crowd,  and,  asking  what  occasioned  it,  were 
informed  that  a  woman  was  to  be  burnt  for  killing  her 
child.  This  set  Savary  a-thinking,  and  he  repented  him  of 
the  errand  on  which  he  was  bound :  so  he  spoke  to  his  com- 
panions, asking  them,  if  burning  to  death  was  the  fitting 
punishment  for  a  woman  killing  her  child,  which,  after  all, 
was  her  own,  what  ought  to  be  done  to  them,  who  were 
about  to  kill  seven  innocent  children  in  whom  they  had 
no  personal  interest  ?  He  therefore  suggested  that  they 
should  do  them  no  harm,  but  only  take  their  silver  collars 
from  them  ;  to  which  his  companions  agreed. 

So  they  journeyed  until  they  came  to  the  hermitage, 
where  they  found  but  six  of  the  children — the  seventh,  who 

1  Thought. 


220 


ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 


was  godson  to  the  hermit,  having  accompanied  him  on  a 
begging  expedition  to  the  neighbouring  villages.  The 
children  cried  when  they  beheld  these  strange  men,  who, 
whilst  bidding  them  fear  nothing,  were  busy  in  taking  the 
collars  from  their  necks ;  but,  no  sooner  were  they  deprived 
of  these  ornaments,  than  they  were  changed  into  white 
swans,  which  flew  away,  "making  a  piteous  and  lamentable 


crye."  The  men  were  terribly  frightened  at  the  conse- 
quences of  their  act,  but  determined  to  return  to  Mata- 
brune  with  six  collars,  and  tell  her  they  had  lost  the 
seventh  by  the  way.  She  was  very  mad  at  not  having 
them  all,  but  eventually  grew  appeased,  and  sent  for  a 
goldsmith,  commanding  him  to  make  a  cup  of  the  chains. 
But  these  were  no  ordinary  chains  of  silver,  and,  when 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWANNE.  221 

the  goldsmith  melted  one  in  a  crucible,  to  his  utter 
astonishment  it  yielded  sufficient  silver  to  make  two  cups 
of  the  required  weight.  These  he  made,  kept  one  himself, 
took  the  other  to  Matabrune,  who  was  satisfied  with  the 
weight  of  metal  she  got ;  and  gave  the  other  five  chains  to 
his  wife  for  safe  keeping,  rightly  believing  there  was  some- 
thing weird  and  uncanny  about  them. 

On  the  return  of  the  hermit  Helias  and  his  godson  they 
found  the  hermitage  empty,  and  sought  the  children  far  and 
near  with  diligent  search  and  shouting,  but  without  avail; 
and  a  miserable  night  they  spent,  on  the  morrow  continuing 
their  quest,  with  the  same  result.  One  thing,  however, 
the  young  Helias  found,  and  knew  not  that  they  were  his 
brethren  ;  on  a  fair  pond  he  beheld  six  white  swans,  which 
when  he  approached  them,  came  towards  him,  took  the 
bread  he  gave  them,  and  allowed  him  to  stroke  their 
feathers  as  he  would.  And  every  day  he  went  to  the  pond 
to  feed  and  caress  them ;  but  nought  could  he  nor  the  hermit 
ever  find  of  the  lost  children.  And  so,  in  this  simple 
manner  the  young  Helias  grew  up  to  man's  estate,  strong, 
healthy,  and  vigorous,  unversed  in  the  ways  of  the  world, 
religious  and  simple-minded  enough  for  a  priest,  for  which 
his  foster  father  intended  him,  until  his  purpose  was  altered 
by  an  angelic  vision. 

Think  not  that  the  wicked  Matabrune  was  quiet  all  this 
time.  Far  from  it,  she  only  bided  until  she  could  find  a 
subservient  tool,  and  this  took  sixteen  years  to  find.  It 


222  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

irked  her  that  Beatrice  should  be  alive,  and  nothing  should 
thwart  her  purpose  of  compassing  her  death.  At  length 
she  found  someone  fitted  to  her  purpose,  "a  knight  disloial 
and  wicked  named  Makaire,"  who  was  quite  willing  to 
bear  false  witness  against  Beatrice,  which  witness  he  was 
willing  to  defend  with  his  body.  The  king  would  fain 
have  let  the  matter  rest,  but  could  not,  for  here  was  a  knight 
who  would  affirm,  at  the  expense  of  his  life,  that  what  he 
said  was  true,  and  would  not  be  gainsaid.  Of  course  the 
queen  could  appear  by  her  champion,  and  do  battle  with 
him  ;  but  none  came  forward,  and  she  could  but  pray  to 
God  for  deliverance,  and  trust  to  His  goodness. 

In  the  meantime  Helias  the  hermit  had  an  angelic 
vision,  in  which  the  whole  story  of  the  seven  children  and 
Queen  Beatrice  was  related  to  him,  as  also  the  fact  that 
the  swans  were  the  lost  ones,  who  should  some  day  be 
restored  to  their  proper  shapes.  The  angel  also  told  him 
that  his  godson  was  to  go  to  his  father's  court,  to  be  his 
mother's  champion,  never  doubting  that  he  would  be  vic- 
torious over  the  wicked  Makaire.  He  further  prophesied, 
that  from  Helias  the  younger  should  spring  the  famous 
Godfrey  de  Bouillon  who  should  conquer  the  Holy  Land. 
At  his  awakening  he  called  the  youth,  told  him  the  whole 
vision,  and  bad  him  set  forth  in  aid  of  his  mother.  This 
he  did,  clothed  but  in  leaves,  barefoot,  and  with  a  simple 
staff  in  his  hand  ;  but,  in  bidding  his  foster  father  farewell, 
he  begged  him  to  feed  his  brethren,  the  swans,  diligently. 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWANNE.  223 

Arrangements  were  being  made  for  the  queen's  death 
when  he  arrived  at  Lilefort,  and  the  porters  would  not 
admit  him  into  the  precincts  of  the  court,  because  of  his 
peculiar  dress  and  appearance  ;  but  at  last  some  one 
told  him  where  Makaire  was,  and  led  him  before  the  Con- 
sistory, where  were  the  king,  the  accused  queen,  all  the 
nobility,  and  the  foul  villain  Makaire.  The  king  thought 
he  was  a  madman,  but  a  knight  said  he  had  heard  him 
.speak  sense ;  and,  on  the  king  asking  him  his  business,  he 
replied  that  he  sought  Makaire.  On  being  shown  him  he 
.at  once  strode  to  him,  and,  defying  him,  he  smote  him  such 
.a  blow  with  his  fist  that  he  felled  him  to  the  earth,  and,  at 
his  rising,  he  was  fain  to  retire  from  the  royal  presence 
covered  with  blood. 

The  king  questioned  him  why  he  had  so  treated  Makaire, 
and  he  replied  that  he  had  come  thither  by  God's  command 
to  be  his  mother's  champion,  but  before  he  would  say  more 
he  would  embrace  her  ;  and,  to  the  marvel  of  all,  he  went 
up  to,  and  kissed  and  embraced  the  queen.  He  then  told 
all  his  story,  and  the  king  asked  the  queen  whether  the 
.substitution  of  the  puppies  for  the  children  was  true  ;  but 
she  replied  that  at  the  time  she  was  unconscious,  and,  of 
course,  knew  nothing  about  it. 

The  king,  however,  believed  the  story,  and,  instead  of 
.sending  his  queen  back  to  prison,  had  her  led  to  rich 
.apartments;  but  he  cast  Makaire  into  prison,  to  be  kept  in 
.safe  custody  until  the  day  of  battle.  He  also  gave  orders 


224 


ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 


for  the  making  of  rich  armour  for  his  son  Helias,  and  then, 
in  order  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  he  visited  the 
hermit,  who  thoroughly  convinced  him  of  the  truth  of  his 
son's  story.  On  his  return,  his  first  act  was  to  restore  his 
injured  queen  to  all  liberty,  for  which  she  humbly  praised 


and  thanked  God  :  but  Matabrune  was  put  in  durance  under 
the  safe  keeping  of  four  sergeants. 

The  day  for  the  combat  had  come,  and  Helias  was 
armed  as  befits  a  king's  son,  whilst  the  caitiff  Makaire 
must  have  seen  that  his  fate  was  sealed,  when  he  found 
the  queen  at  liberty,  and  such  a  champion  to  fight  for  her. 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWANNE.  225 

Still  he  swore  that  he  had  "good  cause  in  that  quarel 
different  that  the  one  against  the  other  wolde  sustaine." 
Of  course  the  combat  was  gained  by  Helias,  who,  when 
about  to  despatch  Makaire,  was  entreated  by  the  latter  to 
spare  his  life  for  an  hour,  and  he  would  reveal  all  Mata- 
brune's  treason,  and  tell  the  name  of  the  goldsmith  who 
made  the  silver  cup  for  her.  Helias  would  fain  have  killed 
the  traitor  then  and  there,  but  could  not  resist  the  tempta- 
tion of  hearing  the  false  knave  confess  his  misdeeds,  so  he 
respited  him.  Brought  before  the  king,  he  made  a  full 
confession,  and  then,  "  bi  the  commaundement  of  the  noble 
Kynge  Oriant,  the  sayd  fals  reproved  traytre  Makayre  was 
drawen  to  the  galowes,  and  there  shamfully  hanged  and 
strangled  as  a  recreant  knight  that  he  was." 

Their  return  to  the  palace  was  signalized  by  exuberance 
of  joy  and  festivity,  not  forgetting  masses  in  thanksgiving. 
The  goldsmith  was  sent  for,  and  brought  with  him  the 
extra  cup  and  the  five  chains.  "  Than  the  kyng  and  the 
queene  tooke  those  precious  chaynes  and  kissed  them 
reverentlie  in  weeping,  and  bewayling  naturally  theyr 
poore  children  that  by  so  great  a  treason  were  mued  J  and 
converted  into  swannes."  The  eyeless  Markes  was  then 
brought  forward,  and  told  the  part  he  had  taken  in  Mata- 
brune's  villainy ;  but  when  Helias  heard  him  he  was  moved 
with  pity,  and  praying  to  God  to  have  mercy  on  that  poor 
blind  man,  and  restore  to  him  his  sight,  he  made  the  sign 

1  Changed. 

16 


226  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

of  the  cross  over  Markes's  eyes,  and  he  saw  as  clearly  as 
ever  he  did.  But,  whilst  all  this  was  going  on,  Matabrune 
managed  to  make  her  gaolers  drunk,  and  escaped,  with- 
drawing, with  certain  of  her  friends,  to  her  castle  of 
Maubruiant,  a  fact  which  the  king  lamented,  and  vented 
his  wrath  on  those  who  had  her  in  keeping. 

Among  all  the  joy,  there  yet  remained  the  fact  that  the 
other  children  were  still  swans  ;  and  Helias,  having  asked 
of,  and  obtained  from,  his  father  the  five  chains  and  the 
cup,  declared  that  he  would  not  rest  until  he  had  trans- 
formed them.  Nor  had  he  long  to  wait,  for  lo !  before  the 
king's  palace,  in  the  river  which  ran  there,  swam  six  noble 
swans.  The  king,  queen,  and  Helias  descended  to  the 
river  bank,  and  when  the  swans  saw  Helias  approach  the 
brink  "  they  came  lightli  fawning  and  flikering  about  him, 
making  him  chere,  and  he  playned  lovingli  theyr  fethers."  r 
But  when  he  put  the  chains  about  their  necks  they  were 
miraculously  transformed  into  four  young  men  and  one 
maiden,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  king  and  queen,  who 
kissed  them,  and  could  scarce  contain  themselves  for  joy. 

"  And  when  the  other  swanne  (whose  chaine  was  molten 
for  to  make  the  cuppes  as  afore  is  sayd)  saw  his  brethren 
and  his  sister  retourned  into  theyr  humaine  fourmes  he  lept 
agayne  all  sorowfully  into  the  river,  and  for  dole  that  he 
had,  he  plucked  almost  al  his  fethers  to  the  bare  flesshe. 
And  whan  the  good  Helias  saw  him  so  dolorously  demeane 

1  Played  lovingly  with  their  feathers. 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWANNE.  227 

himselfe,  he  took  him  to  weepe  for  sorow,  and  recomforted 
him,  sayinge,  My  dere  brother,  my  frende,  have  somwhat 
pacience,  and  discomforte  you  not.  For  I  shall  make  so 
meeke  and  humble  praiers  unto  God  Almighti  for  you, 
that  yet  I  shall  se  you  ones  a  noble  knight.  And  than  the 
swanne  began  to  enclyne  and  bowe  downe  his  head,  as  in 
thanking  him,  and  syth  plunged  himselfe  all  togyther  in 
the  water." 

The  king  and  queen  sorrowed  a  while,  but  they  had  five 
living  children  to  console  them,  and  Helias  bade  them  be 
•of  good  cheer,  for  in  all  probability  the  sixth  would  soon 
"be  restored  to  them,  in  his  own  proper  shape.  The  trans- 
formed were  taken  to  church  to  be  re-baptized,  and  the  girl 
was  christened  Rose. 

Now  King  Oriant,  perceiving  that  Helias  was  beloved 
".both  of  God  and  man,  thought  that  he  was  fitting  to  suc- 
ceed him,  and,  calling  together  all  his  knights  and  barons, 
'he  solemnly  gave  up  his  kingdom  to  him,  telling  him  to 
do  whatever  he  thought  right  to  his  mother  Matabrune. 
Helias  willingly  undertook  the  task  of  punishing  his  grand - 
imother,  and  set  out  with  a  mixed  force  of  six  thousand 
.men  to  besiege  the  castle  of  Maubruiant.  To  take  it  was 
no  easy  task,  but  the  garrison  at  length  yielded,  and 
Matabrune  was  once  more  a  prisoner.  "And  as  soone  as 
the  kinge  apperceyved  her  he  came  to  her  with  great 
courage  and  kest  her  to  the  earth,  saying,  Ha,  false  olde 
vvitche,  thou  hast  betrayed  my  mother,  and  made  us  to 


228  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALR  Y. 

sufifre  muche  evyll.  Yf  it  were  not  for  the  honour  of  God 
and  the  bloud  wherof  I  am  comen,  myselfe  should  slea 
thee."  She  begged  to  be  taken  before  King  Oriant,  but 
Helias  explained  that  he  had  come  to  do  justice  upon  her  ; 
and  then,  when  she  found  that  his  determination  was  fixed, 
she  confessed  her  sins,  and  acknowledged  that  she  ought 
to  die.  Her  shrift  was  a  short  one,  for  "  than  was  wood 
and  dry  thornes  layd  about  her,  and  fyre  set  therein,  and 
so  she  was  brent  for  her  demerites  before  al  the  people." 

Then  Helias  returned,  and  told  his  news,  which  seems 
to  have  been  received  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  way. 
He  went  and  told  his  mother  what  he  had  done,  sayinge, 
Mother,  rejoyce  you,  for  ye  be  revenged  now  of  the  perverce 
Matabrune,  for  I  have  made  her  to  be  brente  for  her  de- 
merites. And  the  quene  answered,  My  right  dere  sonne,  I 
thanke  you.  Jesus  forgeve  her  soule." 

The  time  passed  quietly  and  uneventfully,  until  one  day,. 
Helias,  looking  towards  the  river,  saw  a  swan  guiding  a  ship, 
which  it  led  to  a  wharf,  and  then  stopped.  Helias  found 
no  difficulty  in  recognizing  in  the  bird  his  untransformed 
brother,  and  knew  at  once,  that  it  had  come  to  lead  him 
to  some  place,  he  knew  not  whither,  where  he  ought  to  go. 
He  immediately  gave  back  his  kingdom  to  King  Oriant, 
who  gave  him  a  horn  of  such  virtue,  that  whoever  blew  it 
should  receive  no  hurt,  and,  embarking  on  board  the  ship, 
set  off  on  his  unknown  voyage. 

Here,   in   order   to   make   the   story   plain,   is   a   slight 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWANNE.  229 

t 

digression,  which  treats  of  how  Otto  the  First,  Emperor  of 
Almayne  or  Germany,  held  court  at  Nimaye,  and  the 
Earl  of  Frankebourke  came  before  him  to  accuse  the 
Duchesse  of  Boulyon  of  having  poisoned  his  brother,  her 
husband  ;  and  he  also  alleged  that  her  daughter  was  illegiti- 
mate, and  that,  therefore,  he  laid  claim  to  the  duchy  as 
being  next  heir  of  his  father,  and,  as  was  usual  in  those 
days,  he  was  ready  to  back  his  opinion  with  his  life,  in 
single  combat  with  a  champion  on  behalf  of  the  duchess ; 
but  none  came  forward. 

The  swan  guided  Helias  to  Nimaye,  and  he,  having 
sounded  his  horn,  which  caused  all  hearers  to  marvel, 
disembarked,  and  the  swan  and  ship  disappeared.  He 
introduced  himself  to  the  emperor  as  a  knight  in  search 
of  adventures,  and  Otto  told  him  that  if  such  was  his  quest, 
there  was  one  waiting  for  him,  namely,  to  defend  the 
Duchesse  of  Boulyon.  He  told  him  her  story,  and 
Helias  asked  for  an  interview,  from  which  he  came, 
determined  to  be  her  champion.  A  day  was  fixed,  and 
the  fight  took  place.  Helias  of  course  was  the  victor, 
and,  in  spite  of  the  Earl's  prayer  for  mercy,  his  head  was 
smitten  off. 

In  those  days  events  succeeded  each  other  rapidly,  for 
no  sooner  had  Helias  slain  the  Earl,  than,  after  he  had 
saluted  the  emperor,  he  "  tooke  the  duchesses  doughter 
bi  the  hand,  and  embraced  her,  and  kissed  her  benignely 
in  saying,  Mi  love,  ye  ought  wel  to  be  mi  wife,  for  I  have 


230  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

frelie  bought  you,  and  saved  your  honour  in  champ  *  of 
batayle.  And  the  mayden  answered  humbly,  Certainly,, 
noble  knyght,  my  mother  and  I  ben  beholden  to  God  and 
you  of  the  right  happy  jurney2  that  this  daye  we  have  by 
you  receyved  ;  wherfore,  at  the  good  pleasure  of  mi  mother, 
I  yelde  me  totalli  to  you,  as  it  hath  been  promised." 

This  was  all  their  wooing  ;  and  the  next  day  they  were 
married  (the  festivities  lasting  fifteen  days),  and  the 
duchess  resigned  her  lands  and  duchy,  and,  with  the 
consent  of  the  emperor,  transferred  them  to  Helias,  whilst 
she  retired  to  a  convent.  The  young  pair  set  out  for  their 
dominions,  where  they  were  received  with  great  joy.  Here 
they  abode  for  seven  years  in  great  peace,  the  young 
duchess  bearing  a  daughter,  who  was  christened  Ydain, 
who  in  after  years  was  the  mother  of  Godfrey  de  Boulogne, 
and  his  brothers  Baldwin  and  Eustace. 

One  day,  in  sport,  his  wife  asked  Helias  of  what  country 
he  was,  and  what  friends  he  had  ;  but  he  sternly  forbad  her 
ever  to  speak  of  it,  saying,  that  if  she  did  so,  he  would  at 
once  leave  her,  and  never  again  live  with  her.  By  inadver- 
tence, or  impelled  by  womanly  curiosity,  she  again  asked 
the  question.  Helias  was  now  seriously  angry,  and  told 
her  that  he  should  leave  her  at  once.  He  called  his 
knights  together,  and  commanded  them  that  they  should 
escort  his  wife  and  daughter  to  Nimaye,  to  the  Emperor 
Otto,  and  that  they  should  guard  well  the  duchy  in  their 

1  Battle-field.  2  Day's  work. 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWANNE.  231 

behalf ;  and  as  for  himself,  the  ship,  led  by  a  swan,  would 
come  for  him,  and  he  would  depart  for  ever  from  them. 
And  so  it  fell  out,  the  ladies  went  to  Nimaye,  and  the 
swan-led  ship  called  for  Helias. 

His  wife  arrived  first,  and  complained  to  Otto  of  her 
husband's  conduct  towards  her — but  only  got  reproof  from 
him.  Helias  came  soon  after,  and,  in  an  interview  with 
the  emperor,  besought  his  protection  towards  his  wife  and 
daughter,  and  begged  him  to  see  that  the  latter  married 
nobly — both  of  which  were  promised  ;  after  which  he  bad 
his  wife  and  child  adieu,  and  sailed  away  under  the 
guidance  of  the  swan  to  Lilefort. 

Here  he  was  most  heartily  welcomed  by  his  parents  and 
brethren,  but  the  joy  of  the  father  and  mother  was  dimmed 
by  the  recollection  that  they  had  one  son  yet  in  the 
likeness  of  a  swan.  But  the  queen  had  had  a  dream  on 
the  previous  night,  which  she  related,  and,  as  it  seemed  to 
have  been  sent  divinely,  it  was  followed  out  in  the  minutest 
particulars. 

The  goldsmith  was  sent  for,  and  he  produced  the  two 
cups,  which  he  made  into  two  sacramental  chalices. 
Two  altars  were  appointed,  upon  each  of  which  a  chalice 
was  placed,  and  a  bed  was  placed  between  the  altars. 
Helias  went  to  the  riverside,  and  called  the  swan,  which 
immediately  came,  and  followed  him  into  the  church,  where 
it  was  laid  in  the  bed  ;  and  at  the  prayer  of  consecration  in 
the  mass,  the  swan  returned  to  its  human  form,  and,  joining 


232  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

his  hands,  humbly  gave  thanks  to  God  for  His  goodness. 
Then,  after  he  had  kissed  his  parents  and  brethren,  the 
bells  were  solemnly  rung,  and  a  Te  Deum  was  sung  in 
thankfulness  to  God.  And,  afterwards,  he  was  baptized, 
and  had  the  name  of  Emery  bestowed  upon  him.  So 
King  Oriant  and  his  queen  Beatrice  recovered  all  their 
children,  and  they  lived  henceforth  devoutly,  and  in  the 
fear  of  the  Lord. 

One  would  imagine  that  now  Helias  would  have  settled 
down,  but  he  had  his  own  views  on  the  subject.  His 
foster  father,  the  old  hermit,  was  dead,  and  King  Oriant, 
in  thankfulness  for  his  kindness,  and  in  recognition  of 
Divine  mercy,  had  erected  a  religious  establishment  where 
erst  was  the  humble  hermitage ;  and  thither  Helias 
determined  to  retire,  and  spend  the  remainder  of  his  life 
in  religious  exercises.  But,  first  of  all,  he  told  all  his  family 
of  the  adventures  he  had  undergone  since  last  he  had  seen 
them,  and  then  he  took  his  leave  of  them  and  went  to  the 
hermitage,  where  he  built  a  castle  exactly  like  that  at 
Boulogne — and,  indeed,  called  it  "  Boulyon  le  restaure," 
and  there  he  abode. 

Meanwhile  his  wife,  although  in  religious  retreat,  still 
thought  upon  her  lord,  and  sent  messengers  in  all  direc- 
tions in  search  of  him.  One  of  them,  a  squire  named  Ponce, 
was  luckiest  of  them  all,  for,  being  at  Jerusalem,  he  got 
hold  of  a  clue  to  his  old  master,  which  he  followed  with 
such  success,  that  at  length  he  arrived  at  Boulyon  le 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  THE  SWANNE.  233 

restaure.  In  due  time  he  made  himself  known  to,  and 
was  recognized  by,  his  old  master,  to  whom  he  told  his 
errand,  begging  him  to  return  to  his  wife  and  daughter. 
But  this  Helias  declared  was  impossible,  for  he  was  vowed 
to  a  religious  life  ;  yet  he  gave  him  his  signet  ring,  as  a 
token,  by  which  his  wife  should  kno\V  that  the  squire  had 
spoken  with  him. 

On  his  return  to  Nimaye,  Ponce  detailed  the  result  of 


his  travels,  and,  having  found  out  where  her  husband 
was,  she  and  her  daughter  at  once  set  out  to  visit  him. 
They  arrived  at  Boulyon  le  restaure,  only  to  find  him 
grievously  sick,  and,  indeed,  on  his  death-bed.  The  meeting 
on  both  sides  was  most  tender,  but  necessarily  painful, 
for  very  shortly  afterwards  Helias  died — an  event  which 
preyed  so  much  upon  his  wife,  that  she  died  immediately 
of  a  broken  heart. 


234  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

After  having  seen  her  parents  buried  in  the  same  tomb, 
Ydain  returned  to  Boulyon  and  superintended  the  educa- 
tion of  her  sons.  "And  when  in  their  adolescence  they 
were  somewhat  comen  to  the  age  of  strengthe,  they  began 
to  practyse  them  in  shooting  with  their  bows  and  arbelstre  r 
to  playe  with  the  swerde  and  buckeler,  to  runne,  to  just, 
to  play  with  a  pollaxe,  and  to  wrastle,"  and  in  diri1  time 
they  were  each  sent  to  the  Emperor  of  Almayne  to  be 
knighted. 

C  Thus  endeth  ye  life  and  myraculous  hystory  of  the 
most  noble  and  illustryous  Helyas,  Knight  of  the  Swanne. 

1  Arblast  or  arbelast — a  cross-bow. 


IDalenttne  anb  ©vson* 


THE  TWO  SONNES  OF  THE  EMPEROUR  OF  GREECE. 


THIS    Romance   is    undoubtedly   of  French   origin, 
and    the    British   Museum    has   a   fine    MS.  of   it 
(10   E.    IV.   Royal).     The  earliest  known  printed 
copy   is  one  by  Jac.   Maillet,  Lyons,  1489,  and  it   was  a 
favourite  both  with  the  early  French  and  Italian  presses. 
There  was  a  fragment  of  four  leaves  only  of  this  Romance 
found  in  the  binding  of  an  oak-covered  book  in  the  library 


236  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

of  the  Duke  of  Devonshire  at  Bolton  Abbey,  which  was 
printed  by  Wynkyn  de  Worde,  and  is,  probably,  as  old  as 
that  by  Maillet.  I  take  my  copy  from  one  of  two  books 
printed  by  Copland. 

Pepin  le  Bref  reigned  over  France,  and  his  fair  and 
virtuous  sister,  Bellisant,  was  given  in  marriage  to  Alexander, 
Emperor  of  Greece,  and  went  to  her  home  at  Constanti- 
nople. For  some  little  time  all  went  well,  until  the  High 
Priest,  who  also  seems  to  have  been  Comptroller  of  the 
imperial  household,  became  enamoured  of  her  ;  but  his 
advances  being  indignantly  repulsed  by  the  lady,  he 
traduced  her  to  the  emperor,  who,  believing  him,  would 
fain  have  put  her  to  death,  but  eventually  commuted  her 
punishment  to  banishment,  and  bade  her  go  to  her  brother 
Pepin,  accompanied  only  by  her  page  Blandiman  whom 
she  had  brought  with  her  from  France.  As  usual  with 
heroines  of  Romance,  after  a  little  lamentation  she  accepted 
the  inevitable,  and  set  forth  on  her  journey. 

But  the  wicked  High  Priest  still  longed  to  get  her  in 
his  power,  and,  arming  himself,  went  in  pursuit  of  the 
exiles.  Great  was  the  fight  between  him  and  the  doughty 
squire,  and  there  is  no  knowing  how  it  would  have  ended, 
if  a  merchant  had  not  appeared  on  the  scene,  who,  moved 
by  the  fair  dame's  tears  and  entreaties,  championed  her 
cause  and  made  the  High  Priest  retrace  his  steps. 

After  a  halt  of  a  few  days  to  cure  Blandiman's  wounds, 


VALENTINE  AND  ORSON. 


237 


they  came  to  a  forest  in  Orleans,  where  Queen  Bellisant, 
being  taken  in  childbirth,  sent  her  faithful  squire  for 
female  assistance  ;  but  during  his  absence  she  gave  birth  to 
two  sons,  and  then  "  a  fresh  misery  worse  than  all  the  rest 
that  she  had  endured  hapned  unto  this  lady  ;  for  as  she 


lay  upon  the  earth  under  ye  tree,  and  her  two  infants  by 
her,  suddenly  came  to  her  a  huge  beare,  most  horrible  to 
behold,  and  tooke  up  one  of  the  infants  in  her  mouth,  and 
with  great  pace  hasted  into  ye  thickest  of  ye  forest. 
This  strange  and  unlookt  for  accident  frighted  the  dis- 
tressed lady  to  the  soule,  that  she  cried  out  most  lamentably,. 


238  ROMANCES  O*  CHIVALRY. 

getting  up  upon  her  hands  and  feet  to  hasten  after  the 
aforesaid  beare,  which  was  quickly  got  out  of  her  sight. 
But,  alas  !  it  little  avayled  her  to  make  any  further  pursute, 
for  she  never  came  unto  the  sight  of  the  child,  till  by 
miracle  it  was  at  length  disclosed."  Still,  hoping  against 
hope,  she  feebly  crawled  after  the  bear,  until  exhausted 
nature  gave  way,  and  she  lay  fainting  on  the  ground. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  King  Pepin  was,  that  day,  in 
the  same  forest,  and,  as  good  luck  would  have  it,  he  espied 
the  child,  and  taking  it  up,  bade  an  attendant  to  bear  the 
foundling  to  Orleans  ;  which  was  duly  done,  a  nurse  was 
provided,  and  the  boy  was  baptized  by  the  name  of 
Valentine. 

Meanwhile  Blandiman  returned  with  the  assistance  he 
had  been  to  seek,  but  found  no  Bellisant  ;  in  her  stead, 
however,  was  her  brother  Pepin,  to  whom  the  faithful  squire 
related  the  story  of  his  mistress's  wrongs  :  but  he  seems 
to  have  omitted  to  mention  her  confinement,  nor  did 
Pepin  tell  him  of  the  child  he  had  found — so  that  when 
Bellisant  was  eventually  found  by  Blandiman,  she  only 
knew  that  she  had  lost  both  her  children. 

The  Romance  leaves  all  in  this  state,  and  tells  of  the 
child  carried  off  by  the  bear.  "  The  Beare  (as  you  heard 
before)  that  had  carryed  away  one  of  the  Children,  all  this 
while  had  offered  it  no  violence,  but  bare  it  unto  her  Cave, 
which  was  darke  and  obscure.  In  this  cave  the  old  Beare 
had  foure  young  ones,  amongst  whom  shee  layd  the  Child 3 


VALENTINE  AND  ORSON. 


239 


to  be  devoured  ;  but  marke  the  chance,  and  you  shall  finde 
it  at  laste  miraculous,  for  all  this  while  the  young  Beares 
did  it  no  harme,  but  with  their  rough  pawes  streaked  it 
softly.  The  old  Beare  perceiving  they  did  not  devoure  it, 
shewed  a  bearish  kind  of  favour  toward  it,  insomuch  that 
she  kept  it,  and  gave  it  sucke  among  her  yong  ones  the 
space  of  one  whole  yeare.  The  Child,  by  reason  of  the 


nutriment  it  received  from  the  Beare,  became  rough  all 
over  like  a  beast,  and,  as  he  grew  in  strength,  began  to 
range  up  and  downe  in  the  woods,  and  when  he  met  with 
other  beasts  would  smite  them,  and  gat  such  mastery  over 
them,  that  they  began  to  shun  the  place  wherein  he  came, 
he  was  so  extreame  fierce  amongst  them  :  and  in  this  beast- 


240  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

like  estate  passed  he  the  tearm  of  £ti  years,  growing  up  to 
such  strength  that  scarce  any  man  or  beast  in  the  forest 
durst  stirre  abroad  fearing  to  fall  into  his  hands,  least  he 
should  put  them  to  death,  and  after,  eate  their  flesh,  more 
like  unto  a  ravenous  beast,  than  any  humane  creature. 
His  name  was  called  Orson,  because  a  Beare  had  been  his 
nurse,  and  also  became  rough  like  a  Beare." 

Bellisant  and  her  squire  wandered  over  many  countries 
until  they  came  to  a  port  in  Portugal,  where  dwelt,  in  an 
invincible  castle,  a  giant  named  Ferragus.  Contrary  to 
the  wont  of  giants,  this  one  received  them  with  kindness, 
and  introduced  Bellisant  to  his  wife  ;  and  with  this  friendly 
giant  she  abode  many  years,  during  which  time  the  mer- 
chant, who  had  previously  taken  her  part,  followed  the  High 
Priest  to  Constantinople,  and  there  publicly  impeached 
him  with  his  wrong  doing.  Of  course  there  was  but  one 
method  of  proving  his  accusation,  and  that  was  in  the  lists> 
in  a  combat  a  V entrance  ;  and  King  Pepin,  being  interested 
in  the  good  name  of  his  sister,  was  invited  to  witness  the 
combat.  He  accordingly  went  to  Constantinople,  where 
the  fight  was  to  take  place.  Naturally,  the  traitorous  High 
Priest  was  worsted,  and  confessed  his  sins,  as  a  punishment 
for  which  he  was  plunged  alive  into  a  cauldron  of  boiling 
oil.  Universal  joy  prevailed  at  the  establishment  of  the 
queen's  innocence,  and  before  the  monarchs  parted  "  there 
was  a  generall  peace  concluded  on  both  parties  between 
them,  and  a  most  speedy  course  taken  to  send  abroad  into- 


VALENTINE  AND  ORSON.  241 

all  parts  of  the  world  to  seeke  out  the  distressed  Lady 
Bellisant" 

King  Pepin  returned  to  Paris,  where  he  found  Valentine 
a  comely  youth,  well  versed  in  all  the  exercises  fitted  to 
his  age  ;  and  when  Pepin  went  to  besiege  Rome,  which  the 
Saracens  had  taken,  Valentine  went  with  him  as  his  chief 
commander.  At  Rome  he  jousted  with  the  Admiral  of  the 
Saracens,  and  overthrew  him,  and,  at  the  assault  on  the  city, 
he  performed  such  prodigies  of  valour,  that  he  was  mainly 
instrumental  in  relieving  the  city  from  the  presence  of 
the  hated  infidel  after  which  they  returned  home  to 
France. 

Now,  King  Pepin  had  two  illegitimate  sons,  Haufray  and 
Henry,  who  hated  Valentine  because  he  was  in  such  favour 
with  their  father,  and,  when  the  king  bestowed  upon  him 
the  earldom  of  Clerimont  of  Auvergne,  their  rage  knew  no 
bounds,  and  they  determined,  by  any  means,  to  compass 
his  death.  An  opportunity  soon  presented  itself,  for  Orson, 
with  his  growing  strength,  was  rapidly  developing  into  a 
nuisance,  and  daily  complaints,  from  all  sides,  of  his  con- 
duct, came  to  the  king,  who  called  his  barons  together,  and 
offered  a  reward  of  a  thousand  marks  for  the  body  of 
Orson,  dead  or  alive.  None  cared  to  essay  the  task,  and 
the  wicked  brothers  suggested  that  Valentine  should 
undertake  it.  He  accepted  the  challenge,  to  the  great 
grief  of  the  king,  and  next  day  set  out  on  his  adventure. 

He  arrived  at  the  forest,  and  at  nightfall  he  partook  of 

17 


242  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

some  refreshment,  tied  his  horse  to  a  tree,  and  climbed  the 
same — in  which  situation  he  spent  the  night.  With  the 
early  dawn  came  the  object  of  his  quest,  Orson,  whose 
attention  was  drawn  to  Valentine's  beautiful  horse,  which 
he  immediately  began  to  claw  with  his  long  nails.  The 
horse  resisted,  and  kicked  and  plunged  ;  proceedings  which 
upset  Orson's  temper,  and  a  regular  rough  and  tumble 
fight  between  him  and  the  horse  was  imminent.  Valentine, 
from  his  leafy  height,  seeing  the  danger  that  threatened 
his  good  steed,  called  to  the  wild  man,  that  if  he  wanted  to 
fight  anybody,  he  would  come  down  and  oblige  him.  It 
was  a  terrible  fight.  Orson  was  wounded  by  a  stab  with 
a  knife,  and  Valentine  was  bruised  and  battered  in  this 
unfraternal  strife,  which  only  came  to  an  end  when  both 
were  too  exhausted  to  continue  it,  and  then  Valentine  thus 
addressed  his  brother  :  "  Wild-man,  wherefore  dost  not 
thou  yeeld  thyselfe  to  me  ?  Heere  thou  livest  like  a 
beast,  having  no  knowledge  of  humane  society.  Come  thy 
way  with  me,  and  I  shall  make  thee  know  both  thyselfe 
and  others.  I  will  give  unto  thee  food  of  all  sorts,  and 
also  cloath  thee  in  apparell  fitting  humaine  shape." 

The  Chronicler  does  not  state  how  the  wild-man  under- 
stood this  harangue,  but  he  evidently  did  so,  for  he  "  fell 
down  upon  his  knees,  and  stretched  forth  his  hands  towards 
his  Brother,  making  unto  him  a  signe  to  forgive  him,  and 
he  would  commit  himself  under  his  command  ever  after, 
and  with  further  signes  promised  that  during  his  life  he 


VALENTINE  AND  ORSON.  243 

would  assist  him  both  in  body  and  goods."  Valentine 
graciously  accepted  his  submission,  but  took  the  precau- 
tion to  make  him  walk  in  front  until  they  were  out  of  the 
wood,  when  Valentine  bound  him  with  one  of  his  horse's 
.girths,  and  thus  "  led  the  Wild-man  with  him  like  a  Beast, 
who  never  resisted,  which  was  a  thing  most  of  all  to  be 
wondred  at." 

His  uncouthness  created  much  diversion  at  court ;  he  ate 
his  food  in  a  savage  manner,  and  drank  wine  in  any 
quantity.  But  he  was  faithful  to  his  conqueror,  who  had 
him  baptized  under  the  name  of  Orson — or,  as  some  of  the 
older  French  romances  have  it,  Ursine,  a  name  which 
would  be  more  appropriate — and  "Valentine  taught  him 
manners  how  he  should  behave  himselfe.  And  so  they 
both  lived  quietly  in  the  Court  of  King  Pepin." 

But  heroes  of  Romance  are  restless  beings,  and  not 
particularly  home  loving,  snatching  eagerly  at  any  occasion 
which  might  lead  to  adventure,  and  one  soon  offered  to 
Valentine.  Duke  Savary  of  Aquitaine  sent  to  King  Pepin, 
desiring  his  aid  against  "  a  false  and  accursed  Pagan  (called 
the  Greene  Knight)  who  hath  beseidged  his  Confines,  and 
intendeth  to  have  his  Daughter  by  force  of  armes  against 
his  will."  This  Green  Knight  was  the  brother  of  Ferragus, 
the  kindly  Giant,  and  was  a  most  redoubtable  man  of  war, 
before  whom  none  could  stand,  as  he  "  could  not  be  over- 
come by  any,  except  he  were  a  King's  Son,  and  such  an 
one  as  had  never  sucked  the  breasts  of  any  Woman." 


244  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALR  Y. 

Here  then  was  a  foe  worthy  of  Valentine's  sword  ;  he 
would  overthrow  the  Paladin  and  rescue  the  fair  Lady 
Fezon — for  the  Green  Knight  had  promised  not  to  kill 
the  Duke,  or  possess  himself  of  his  daughter,  if,  in  six 
months,  a  champion  could  be  found  who  could  overcome 
him. 

Valentine,  who  had  the  additional  inducement  of  wan- 
dering into  foreign  parts  in  order  to  discover  his  parents, 
applied  for,  and  obtained,  leave  from  Pepin  to  undertake 
this  adventure,  and,  accompanied  by  Orson,  he  set  out, 
much  to  the  discomfort  of  Eglantine,  King  Pepin's  daugh- 
ter, who  was^deeply  in  love  with  him. 

But  Haufray  and  Henry  thought  they  herein  saw  an 
opportunity  of  wreaking  their  hatred  to  Valentine,  and,, 
with  their  cousin  Grygar  and  thirty  men,  laid  in  ambush 
for  him  in  a  forest,  through  which  he  must  needs  pass.  It 
was  successful,  and,  after  a  brave  struggle  against  over- 
whelming odds,  in  which  Orson  literally  fought  with  tooth 
and  nail,  Valentine  was  taken  prisoner,  and  Orson  sadly 
went  to  Pepin's  Court,  where,  by  signs,  he  told  the  tale. 
He  had  the  satisfaction  of  a  single  combat  with  Grygar,. 
whom  he  overcame,  and  who  confessed  his  treachery,  and 
was  rewarded  by  being  hanged  on  the  nearest  tree.  King 
Pepin  then  proceeded  with  a  force  to  deliver  Valentine,, 
executing  summary  justice  on  his  captors  ;  after  which  the 
brothers  went  on  their  quest  of  the  Green  Knight. 

On  their  arrival  at  Aquitaine,  Valentine  introduced  him- 


VALENTINE  AND  ORSON.  245 

self  to  Duke  Savary,  told  him  of  their  errand,  and  having 
spoken  with  the  Lady  Fezon,  bade  her  notice  Orson,  who 
had  undertaken  to  be  her  champion,  and  who  was  the 
strongest  man  in  the  world.  The  lady  looked  on  the  wild- 
man  with  eyes  of  affection,  a  sentiment  which  was  increased 
when  she  afterwards  met  him  at  dinner,  a  meal  at  which 
the  Green  Knight  was  an  uninvited  guest  This  latter  was 
boasting  how  he  would  demolish  the  Champion  on  the 
morrow,  when  Orson  rose  from  table,  and,  taking  the 
Green  Knight  by  the  waist,  laid  him  across  his  shoulder  as 
if  he  were  a  child,  and  then,  seeing  a  handy  wall,  threw 
him  against  it  with  such  force  that  all  imagined  he  was 
killed.  After  which  he  calmly  resumed  his  meal. 

Next  day,  being  the  day  appointed  for  the  combat,  all 
things  were  ready,  and  two  or  three  knights  who  claimed 
priority,  having  been  overthrown  and  hanged  by  the  Green 
Knight,  Valentine  encountered  him,  and  the  fight  between 
them  lasted  till  sunset,  ending  in  a  drawn  battle,  which 
was  to  be  resumed  on  the  morrow.  But  when  the  morning 
came,  he  caused  Orson  to  be  armed  in  his  armour,  and  to 
ride  his  horse,  and  thus  go  and  fight  the  Green  Knight. 
The  contest  was  severe,  until  Orson  disencumbered  himself 
of  the  armour  and  dragged  his  opponent  from  the  saddle, 
when  he  cast  him  to  the  ground,  holding  him  down 
until  he  wrung  from  him  the  unwilling  confession  that  he 
yielded. 

Summary  vengeance  was  about  to  be  taken  upon  the 


246"  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Green  Knight,  and  he  was  nearly  undergoing  the  death  he 
had  caused  so  many  others  to  suffer,  when  Valentine  came 
to  his  rescue,  and  granted  him  his  life  on  condition  that  he 
should  renounce  paganism,  and  should  go  to  France  and 
tell  King  Pepin  that  he  had  been  overcome  by  Valentine 
and  Orson.  To  this  he  agreed,  and,  out  of  gratitude,  he 
suggested  that  the  two  should  go  and  visit  his  sister 
Clerimond,  who  possessed  a  magic  head  of  brass,  which, 
like  Friar  Bacon's,  spoke,  and  was  possessed  of  supernatural 
knowledge.  The  Lady  Fezon  was  delighted  that  her  cham- 
pion had  obtained  the  victory,  and,  being  deeply  in  love 
with  Orson,  they  were  at  once  betrothed  ;  but  Orson,  by- 
signs,  made  his  affianced  bride  understand  that  he  would 
not  marry  her  until  he  had  obtained  the  power  of  speech. 
And  Valentine,  being  warned  by  an  angel  in  a  vision  that 
they  should  at  once  go  and  see  Clerimond,  took  his  depar- 
ture, accompanied  by  Orson. 

Meanwhile  Blandiman  had  been  sent  by  his  mistress, 
who  still  lived  in  the  Giant  Ferragus's  Castle,  to  King" 
Pepin,  to  find  out  whether  that  monarch  yet  entertained 
his  injurious  opinions  respecting  his  sister.  Blandiman  told 
the  story  of  the  bear  taking  away  one  child,  and  the  other 
being  lost  while  Bellisant  was  in  pursuit  of  the  bear ;  and, 
when  he  said  that  this  happened  on  the  day  in  which  he 
met  King  Pepin  in  the  forest  in  Orleans,  it  "  strucke  the 
King  into  such  admiration,  that  he  began  to  recollect  his 
wits,  and  then  presently  came  into  his  mind  the  finding  of 


VALENTINE  AND  ORSON.  247 

Valentine  in  the  Forest,  and  how  by  the  same  Valentine, 
Orson  was  conquered  in  the  same  wood.  Then  hee  began 
again  to  think  on  the  story  that  Blandimain  had  tould  him, 
and  thereby  knew  that  these  were  the  two  babes  brought 
forth  by  his  sister ;  wherefore  he  sent  for  his  Queene,  and 
other  Ladies,  to  let  them  understand  what  Blandimain  had 
declared,  saying,  '  My  Lords,  I  have  long  nourished  and 
brought  up  in  my  Court  two  poore  Children  ;  and  now  it 
plainly  doth  appeare  they  are  Sons  to  an  Emperor,  and  my 
neere  kinsmen — Valentine,  the  one  whom  I  founde  in  the 
Forest  of  Orleance,  brought  forth  there  by  my  sister 
Bellysant,  in  the  time  of  her  exile,  and  Orson,  who  was 
likewise  vanquished  by  Valentine,  to  be  his  naturale 
brother,  and  both  Sons  to  the  Emperour  of  Greece.  At 
these  tydings  all  the  Court  was  wonderfull  joyfull,  save 
only  Haufray  and  Henry,  who  in  outward  shew  seemed  glad, 
but  were  in  their  hearts  very  sorrowfull,  for  above  all  things 
they  desired  the  death  of  Valentine." 

Pepin  made  up  his  mind  to  proceed  to  Constantinople, 
to  inform  his  brother-in-law  of  the  good  news;  and,  accom- 
panied by  the  Green  Knight,  who  had  arrived  in  Paris, 
and  been  graciously  received,  set  out  on  his  journey.  On 
his  way  he  paid  a  visit  to  the  Pope,  who  informed  him  that 
the  Soudan  of  the  Saracens  was  besieging  Constantinople, 
and  that  the  Emperor  of  Greece  was  in  sore  need  of  help. 
An  expedition  to  succour  him  was  soon  organized,  and 
Pepin  set  out  at  the  head  of  two  hundred  thousand  men, 


248  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

to  the  assistance  of  his  brother-in-law.  There  was  a 
terrible  battle  with  the  Saracens,  who,  however,  were  no 
match  for  their  opponents,  and  King  Pepiri  entered  Con- 
stantinople, but  the  united  forces  of  the  two  monarchs 
were  insufficient  to  compel  the  Saracens  to  raise  the 
siege. 

The  history  now  turns  to  the  two  heroes.  They,  in 
the  course  of  travel,  came  to  Clerimond's  Castle,  but  were 
confronted  at  the  entrance  by  ten  sturdy  knights  who  were 
always  on  guard.  The  fair  chatelaine  was  told  that  two 
knights  desired  admittance,  and  she  gave  orders  that  the 
gate  should  be  well  kept,  whilst  she  interrogated  them 
herself  from  the  window.  After  seeing  a  ring  which  her 
brother  the  Green  Knight  had  given  Valentine  as  a  token, 
and  having  consulted  the  magic  head,  she  gave  orders  for 
their  admission.  But  her  seneschal  or  steward  demurred, 
and  would  not  admit  them  without  a  fight — which  ended 
disastrously  for  him,  for  Valentine  killed  him. 

Clerimond,  who  fell  in  love  with  Valentine  at  first  sight, 
admired  him  still  more  for  slaying  her  seneschal ;  and  when 
he  gave  her  her  brother's  ring,  her  confidence  in  him  was 
complete,  and  they  all  sat  down  to  dinner,  after  which 
meal  they  proceeded  to  the  chamber  wherein  was  kept  the 
brazen  head.  On  their  arrival  "  they  found  the  Chamber 
doore  guarded  on  this  manner.  On  the  one  side  a  grimme 
fearefull  and  ugly  shapen  Villayne,  strong  and  crooked, 
armed  with  a  club  of  yron  uppon  his  neck,  which  offered 


VALENTINE  AND  ORSON.  247 

to  make  resistance.  On  the  other  side  of  the  chamber 
dore  stood  a  most  fierce  Lyon."  With  little  ado  Valentine 
seized  the  lion,  and  it  became  powerless,  whilst  at  the  same 
time  Orson  attended  to  the  "  Villayne,"  knocked  him 
down,  and  would  have  slain  him,  had  not  Clerimond  inter- 
fered. They  then  entered  the  chamber,  which  was  full  of 
wonders,  the  chief  being  the  brazen  head,  which  immedi- 
ately commenced  an  oration  about  their  birth  and  parentage, 
and  ended  thus:  "'Further,  thus  much  I  shall  also  tell  thee, 
that  this  thy  brother  here  present  shal  never  have  use  of 
his  tongue  till  a  thread  be  cut  under  the  same,  and  then 
thou  shalt  heare  him  speake  plainely.  Therefore  proceed 
as  thou  hast  begun,  and  thou  shalt  prosper :  for  my  time 
is  at  a  period,  sith  thou  art  come  to  enter  this  chamber,' 
and  so  bending  itselfe  towards  him  in  token  of  reverence,  it 
never  after  spake  more."  After  this  there  were  tender 
embracings  of  the  brothers.  Clerimond  informed  Valentine 
that  he  was  her  destined  husband,  and  he  at  once  agreed 
to  marry  her,  provided  she  turned  Christian,  to  which  she 
joyfully  consented.  Orson  had  his  tongue  cut,  and  was 
enabled  to  speak,  and  all  were  happy. 

But  this  was  not  destined  to  last,  for  Clerimond  kept  a 
dwarf  named  Pacolet,  who  was  an  enchanter,  and  possessed 
a  wooden  horse,  in  whose  head  was  a  pin,  which  would 
direct  the  flight  of  the  horse  through  the  air  in  any  direc- 
tion its  rider  wished,  and  by  means  of  this  equine  balloon 
he  visited  Ferragus,  and  informed  him  of  all  his  sister's 


250  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

doings.  Ferragus,  as  a  good,  conscientious  pagan,  fell  into 
a  terrible  rage  at  the  idea  of  his  sister  marrying  a  Christian,, 
but  he  dissembled  his  anger,  and  instructed  Pacolet  to  tell 
his  lady  that  he  would  come  in  person  to  visit  her,  with  a 
noble  troop  of  knights.  Of  the  sincerity  of  this  message 
Clerimond  had  doubts,  but  she  could  do  nothing,  and,  in 
due  time,  Ferragus,  with  his  fleet,  arrived. 

It  would  seem  as  if  the  minds  of  giants  were  naturally 
warped,  for  Ferragus,  although,  as  we  have  seen,  was 
capable  of  acts  of  generosity  and  benevolence,  yet  har- 
boured the  direst  treachery  towards  his  sister  and  her 
fiance ;  and,  under  pretence  of  taking  Valentine  to  see  his 
mother,  and  celebrating  their  marriage  in  Portugal,  he 
lured  them  on  board  his  ship,  and  when  fairly  at  sea  he 
bound  both  Valentine  and  Orson,  putting  them  in  irons — 
a  proceeding  which  so  infuriated  Clerimond,  that  she  would 
have  thrown  herself  into  the  sea  had  she  not  been 
prevented. 

On  the  ship's  arrival  at  Portugal,  the  brothers  were  put 
in  a  dungeon  in  Ferragus's  Castle,  and  there  Bellisant  saw 
them,  and  was  afterwards  told  by  Clerimond  who  they 
were — a  story  which,  of  course,  ended  in  loud  lamentations 
of  the  pair,  when  they  thought  of  the  probable  fate  of 
the  prisoners.  But  at  this  moment  the  dwarf  Pacolet 
appeared,  and  comforted  the  ladies  by  telling  them  that 
he  would  set  them  all  free  that  night ;  and  this  he  accom- 
plished by  his  magic  arts.  And  then,  having  seated  them 


VALENTINE  AND  ORSON.  251 

on  his  wooden  horse,  he  speedily  deposited  them  at 
Clerimond's  Castle,  from  whence  they  sailed  to  Aquitaine, 
and  arrived  safely  at  Duke  Savary's,  where  Orson,  in  order 
to  try  Lady  Fezon's  constancy  to  him,  did  not  declare  his 
name,  but  assumed  the  character  of  a  stranger  knight. 

When  Ferragus  learned  that  the  escaped  prisoners  were 
at  Aquitaine,  he  was  in  a  furious  rage,  and,  having  gath- 
ered an  army,  he  laid  siege  to  that  city,  and  in  one  battle 
took  the  Duke  prisoner ;  but  Orson  and  Pacolet  penetrated 
into  the  camp  of  the  enemy,  and,  by  the  enchantments  of 
the  latter,  released  the  Duke,  who,  in  gratitude,  promised 
to  give  Orson  his  daughter  Fezon  in  marriage.  In  a 
subsequent  battle  Ferragus  and  his  host  were  defeated,  and 
the  siege  was  raised.  Orson  declared  himself,  and  was 
happily  married  to  the  Lady  Fezon. 

It  may  be  remembered  that  King  Pepin  and  the 
Emperor  of  Greece  were  shut  up  in  Constantinople,  be- 
sieged by  the  Saracenic  Soudan,  and  Valentine,  having 
now  some  leisure,  determined  to  go  to  their  assistance.  So 
Pacolet,  mounting  Valentine  and  the  Green  Knight  on  his 
aerial  courser,  soon  brought  them  in  presence  of  the  two 
monarchs,  and  was  introduced  to  the  Emperor  as  his  son. 
Pacolet  was  invaluable,  for,  Valentine  and  the  Green 
Knight  having  been  taken  prisoners,  he  not  only  released 
them,  but  he  persuaded  the  Soudan  to  mount  his  wooden 
horse — and  hey,  presto  !  they  were  in  the  palace  of  the 
Grecian  Emperor  at  Constantinople.  This  poor  deluded 


252  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

pagan  was  immediately  hanged  on  the  highest  tower,  in 
sight  of  all  his  frosts. 

The  story  now  takes  a  totally  different  turn.  A  King 
Trompart,  a  Saracen,  and  friend  of  Ferragus,  was  enamoured 
of  Clerimond,  and  was  aided  by  a  magician,  who  performed 
wonderful  enchantments,  and  robbed  Pacolet  of  his  horse, 
on  which  he  placed  Clerimond,  and  so  conveyed  her  to 
King  Trompart's  tent.  She  did  not  take  her  abduction 
quietly,  and  when  Trompart  attempted  to  kiss  her,  she 
smote  him  on  the  mouth  with  her  fist ;  which  so  enraged 
him,  that  he  caught  her  up,  and,  jumping  on  Pacolet's 
horse,  flew  to  India — a  journey  that  cost  him  dear,  for  the 
King  of  India  remembered  that  Trompart  had  killed  his 
brother,  and  at  once  caused  his  head  to  be  cut  off.  He, 
too,  fell  desperately  in  love  with  Clerimond,  but  refrained 
from  pressing  his  suit  when  she  told  him  she  was  under  a 
vow  not  to  take  a  husband  for  the  space  of  a  year,  and  he 
entertained  her  handsomely  in  his  palace. 

They  mourned  her  loss  in  Aquitaine,  and  Pacolet 
revenged  himself  on  his  rival  magician  by  killing  him  ;  he 
also  brought  Ferragus,  bound,  unto  the  city,  and  having  by 
his  spells  caused  all  the  Saracen  army  to  sleep  soundly, 
the  garrison  sallied  forth,  and  slew  them  to  a  man.  Ferra- 
gus was  offered  his  life  on  condition  of  his  turning 
Christian ;  but  this  he  refused,  and  was  beheaded.  The 
Duke  of  Aquitaine  and  Orson  now  resolved  to  go  to  the 
relief  of  Constantinople,  and,  aided  by  a  sortie  of  the 


VALENTINE  AND  ORSON.  253 

garrison,  the  Saracen  army  was  totally  destroyed.  The 
Emperor,  King  Pepin,  Valentine  and  the  Green  Knight, 
then  went  to  meet  Bellisant,  who  had  arrived  in  a  ship. 
She,  of  course,  was  reconciled  to  her  husband,  and  there 
was  universal  joy. 

Except  with  Valentine,  who  missed  the  face  of  his 
beloved  Clerimond.  On  closely  questioning  Pacolet,  he 
told  him  how  she  had  been  carried  off  by  King  Trompart, 
and  he  vowed  to  spend  his  life  in  searching  for  her.  From 
this  point  the  Romance  becomes  so  involved  and  intricate, 
as  to  be  somewhat  difficult  to  follow,  and  I  shall  simplify 
it  by  leaving  out  a  vast  amount  of  extraneous  matter,  and 
only  follow  the  fortunes  of  the  principal  characters.  Val- 
entine and  Pacolet  travelled  in  many  lands  in  searching 
after  Clerimond,  and  met  with  numberless  adventures, 
until,  at  last,  they  met  King  Pepin,  who  had  been  taken 
prisoner  at  Jerusalem,  and  had  been  interned  at  the  court 
of  the  King  of  India,  where  he  reported  Clerimond  to  be, 
still  faithful  to  her  absent  love,  having  counterfeited 
madness  to  avoid  the  king's  love. 

Valentine  clothed  himself  in  pilgrim's  garb,  and  at  once 
set  out  for  the  court  of  the  King  of  India.  Arrived  there  he 
gave  himself  out  to  be  a  physician,  and  a  specialist  in  cases 
of  madness.  This  caused  him  to  be  brought  into  Lady 
Clerimond's  presence.  He  discovered  himself,  and,  finding 
that  she  had  carefully  kept  Pacolet's  horse,  they  mounted 
thereon,  and  safely  escaped. 


254  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

His  next  exploit  was  delivering  his  father,  the  Green 
Knight,  and  the  twelve  Peers  of  France,  from  the  hands 
of  the  Lady  Galazy ;  and  he,  in  his  turn,  was  afterwards 
besieged  in  the  city  of  Angory.  His  father  with  ten 
thousand  men  came  to  their  relief,  and,  in  order  to  secure 
a  safe  landing,  the  Emperor  ordered  that  what  we  should 
term  his  staff  should  put  on  pagan  garments.  Valentine 
saw  this  band  of  paynims,  charged  them,  and  inadvertently 
killed  his  father.  There  was  but  scant  time  for  mourning, 
for  the  heathen  were  prevailing,  so  he  and  Orson  once 
more  joined  the  fray,  and,  by  their  deeds  of  valour,  changed 
the  fortune  of  war,  and  completely  routed  the  Saracens. 
But,  after  the  excitement  of  battle,  came  a  reaction,  and 
Valentine  was  as  one  mad.  So,  being  incapable  of  attend- 
ing to  affairs,  they  crowned  the  Green  Knight  King  of 
Angory,  and  departed  for  Constantinople. 

In  the  meantime  things  were  not  going  well  at  the 
French  Court,  where  Haufray  and  Henry  were.  These  two, 
having  no  Valentine  to  hate,  turned  their  attention  to  the 
young  Charlemagne  their  brother,  whom  Pepin  had  made 
his  heir ;  and  having  invited  him,  and  the  king  and  queen, 
to  a  feast,  they  determined  to  poison  him.  But  he  came 
not,  so  they  gave  the  poisoned  cup  to  the  king  and  queen, 
and  they  both  drank,  and  died.  The  two  wicked  brothers 
seized  on  all  the  strong  castles  and  cities,  but  could  not 
find  Charlemagne,  who  was  with  his  sister  ;  by  whose  aid, 
and  that  of  the  King  of  England,  Haufray  and  Henry 


VALENTINE  AND  ORSON.  255 

were  eventually  overcome,  and  slain,  whilst  Charlemagne 
was  crowned  king,  amidst  universal  joy. 

Valentine  and  Orson  went  to  Constantinople,  bearers  of 
the  sad  news  of  the  Emperor's  death,  and,  the  throne  being 
vacant,  they  were  chosen  joint  emperors.  But  Valentine 
governed  not  long — he  was  too  oppressed  by  the  weight  of 
the  crime  he  had  committed,  in  unwittingly  killing  his 
father,  and  he  sought  the  common  refuge  of  the  time,  a 
pilgrimage.  He  told  Clerimond  of  his  resolve,  and  they 
broke  her  wedding-ring,  each  keeping  half.  Then,  taking 
only  one  page  with  him,  he  set  out  for  Rome,  where, 
•"  comming  into  the  presence  of  a  hermit,  he  confessed  the 
death  of  his  father  ;  the  hermit  seeing  him  so  penitent, 
enjoy ned  him  pennance  :  First  change  thy  habit  and  go 
barely  cloathed,  and  7  yeares  lye  under  the  staires  of  thy 
pallace,  without  speaking  any  words  ;  thou  shalt  neither 
eat  nor  drinke  but  of  the  scraps  that  come  from  thine  own 
table — do  thus,  and  feare  not  thy  sins.  Sir,  said  Valentine, 
all  this  I  will  do  ;  so,  after  he  had  dined,  he  departed  with- 
out speaking  to  his  servant :  after  this  Valentine  entred 
into  a  wood,  feeding  upon  Roots  ;  and  he  continued  there 
:so  long  that  he  was  forgotten  amongst  men." 

Valentine  followed  out  the  instructions  of  the  hermit, 
,and  lay  under  the  stairs  of  his  own  house,  none  knowing 
who  the  poor  pilgrim  was.  "  At  the  end  of  seaven  yeares 
Valentine  fell  into  a  mortall  disease,  whereof  he  dyed. 
.Before  his  death  an  Angell  appeared  to  him  saying,  Valen- 


256  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

tine,  thy  glasse  is  run,  for  within  foure  houres  thou  shalt 
die ;  whereat  he  greatly  rejoyced,  making  signes  for  pen, 
inke  and  paper :  when  he  had  it,  he  wrote  that  it  was 
himselfe  that  appeared  like  a  Pilgrim.  After  putting  to 
his  name,  he  closed  up  the  paper,  putting  in  the  other 
halfe  of  the  Ring  that  he  had  kept :  shortly  after  he  layd 
him  down,  and  dyed."  Clerimond  was  disconsolate  at  his 
death,  and  ever  afterwards  lived  a  single  life. 

Orson  reigned  seven  years,  when  he,  too,  retired  into  a 
wood,  and  lived  on  roots ;  and,  when  he  died,  he  was 
succeeded  in  the  government  by  his  children.  The  chro- 
nicle finishes  thus  :  "  The  Green  Knight  after  so  governed 
his  children  that  they  carefully  spent  their  time  on  earth,, 
and  followed  their  Father  to  his  grave." 


Cglamouve 
of  Ir  tops, 


18 


Sir  lEslamourc  of  Hrto\>0* 

THE    British    Museum    possesses    a    MS.    of   this 
Romance    (paper    I5th     century),    and    Copland 
printed  a  version,  which  is  in  the  Bodleian  Library, 
but   I   have    taken    my  story   from    one   in   the   British 
Museum  printed  by  John  Walley,  A.D.  1570. 

In  the  court  of  Sir  Prynsamoure,  Earl  of  Artois,  there 
were  many  knights,  but  pre-eminent  amongst  them,  both 
for  courtesy  and  feats  of  arms,  was  Sir  Eglamoure.  The 
Earl  had  but  one  child,  a  daughter  named  Christabel, 
and  she  would  be  his  heiress.  She  was  of  surpassing 
beauty,  her  fair  complexion  even  coming  up  to  the 
Romance  standard — "as  whyte  as  whales-bone."  She 
loved  Eglamoure,  and  he  loved  her ;  and  when  lords  and 
knights  came  from  strange  lands  to  joust  in  honour  of 
Christabel,  and  thus  endeavour  to  win  her  love,  the  lance 
of  Sir  Eglamoure  ever  overthrew  them.  He,  although  he 
loved  her  dearly,  had  but  little  hope  of  winning  her,  for, 


26o  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

besides  the  presumption  of  his  aspiring  to  the  hand  of  his 
patron's  daughter,  with  the  chance  of  succeeding  to  his 
sovereignty,  he  was  poor,  and,  as  his  chamberlain  told  him, 
"  a  knyght  of  lytel  lande,"  supplementing  this  information 
with  the  proverb — 

The  man  that  heweth  over  hye, 
Some  chyp  falleth  in  his  eye. 

This  trusty  servant  endeavoured  to  prove  to  his  master 
the  hopelessness  of  his  love,  pointing  out  that  she  was 
sought  for  by  princes  and  lords,  and  that  it  was  scarcely 
likely  she  would  look  favourably  on  a  simple  knight.  Sir 
Eglamoure,  somewhat  discouraged  by  this  conversation, 
retired  to  his  chamber,  where  he  prayed  to  God  to  help 
him  in  this  strait,  and  to  grant  that  he  might  have  the 
Earl's  daughter  to  wife.  Then  he  took  to  his  bed,  sick 
with  love. 

On  the  morowe  that  may  den  small 
Ete  wyth  her  father  in  the  hall 
That  was  so  fayre  and  bryght. 
All  the  knyghtes  were  at  mate  save  he  ; 
The  ladye  sayd  for  Goddes  pytie 
Where  is  Syr  Eglamoure  my  knyght  ? 
Hys  squyere  answered  wyth  hevy  chere, 
He  is  syke  and  dead  full  nere  ; 
He  prayeth  of  you  a  syght. 

The  Earl  told  his  daughter  to  go  and  see  the  sick 
knight,  for  that  he  was  always  courteous  and  kind,  besides 
being  first  in  the  tournament.  So,  after  dinner,  accom- 


SIX  EGLAMOURE  OF  ARTOYS.  261 

panied   by  her   two   maidens,  she  went   to   the   knight's 
chamber,  and  inquired  after  his  health. 

And  than  sayde  that  lady  bryght, 

How  fareth  Syr  Eglamoure  my  knyght, 

That  is  man  ryght  fayre  ? 

For  sothe  lady,  as  ye  may  se, 

With  wo  I  am  bound  for  the  love  of  the, 

In  longynge  and  in  care. 

Syr,  she  sayde,  by  Goddes  pytie, 

If  ye  be  agreved  for  me 

It  wolde  greve  me  full  sore. 

Damosell,  might  I  tourne  to  lyfe, 

I  wolde  have  you  to  be  my  wyfe 

If  it  your  wyll  were. 

She  replied  that  she  was  fond  of  him,  and,  if  he  would 
speak  plainly  to  her  father  on  the  subject,  and  obtain  his 
consent,  she  would  be  willing.  The  knight  was  so  over- 
joyed at  this  quasi  consent,  that  he  ordered  his  squire  to 
"  fetch  an  4C«.  pounde  or  two,"  which  he  presented  to  his 
inamorata's  two  maids,  against  their  marriage.  This 
generosity  was  so  pleasing  to  the  lady,  that  she  rewarded 
her  love  with  a  kiss.  On  her  return  to  the  palace  the  Earl 
inquired  after  Sir  Eglamoure,  and  she  informed  him  that 
he  was  much  better,  and  intended  to  go  out  hawking  on 
the  morrow ;  and  the  Earl  was  so  pleased  thereat,  that  he 
said  he  would  accompany  him. 

They  rode  hawking  all  next  day,  and  at  night,  on  their 
return  home,  Sir  Eglamoure  spoke  to  the  Earl  on  the 
subject  of  his  love  for  his  daughter.  His  proposition  was 
distasteful  to  the  Earl,  but  he  diplomatically  agreed  to  it, 


•62  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

provided  the  knight  was  successful  in  three  deeds  of  arms, 
which  he  would  set  him — the  first  being  that  he  should  go 
hunting  in  a  forest  belonging  to  a  giant  named  Sir  Marocke, 
and  bring  thence  a  hart. 

The  knyght  thought  on  Crystabell, 
He  swore  by  him  that  harowed  hell 
Him  wolde  he  never  forsake. 
Syr,  kepe  wel  my  lady  and  my  lande, 
Therto  the  erle  helde  up  his  hande, 
And  trothes  x  they  dyd  stryke. 

He  then  went  to  bid  his  love  farewell,  telling  her  the 
errand  on  which  he  was  bent ;  and  she  gave  him  a  grey- 
hound, from  which  no  deer  had  ever  escaped,  and  a 
sword,  which  had  been  found  in  the  sea — 

There  is  no  helme  of  yron  and  stele 
But  it  wolde  carve  in  two. 

So  he  set  off  on  his  journey,  and  soon  came  to  the 
giant's  forest,  where  he  found  abundance  of  deer ;  but 
started  one  hart  in  particular — the  finest  of  the  herd. 
The  deep  baying  of  the  deer-hound  woke  the  giant 
Marocke,  who  had  an  unconquerable  aversion  to  having 
his  deer  hunted,  and  he  at  once  roused  himself,  and  went 
in  search  of  the  poacher.  By  this  time  Sir  Eglamoure  had 
killed  his  deer,  and  blown  a  mort  on  his  horn,  a  proceeding 
not  likely  to  appease  the  giant's  anger  ;  so  that  when  they 
met  but  scant  courtesy  passed,  and  Marocke  smote  a 
swinging  blow  with  his  club,  which  missed  the  knight,  and 

1  They  plighted  or  pledged  their  faith. 


EGLAMOURE  OF  ARTOYS.  263 

spent  its  force  on  the  ground.  And  then  began  a  mighty 
combat,  which  lasted  three  days,  which  is  the  more  marvel 
when  we  consider  that,  at  the  first  onset,  the  glitter  of  Sir 
Eglamoure's  sword  blinded  poor  Marocke,  so  that  it  was 
much  to  his  credit  that  the  fight  lasted  so  long.  At  length 
Marocke  was  vanquished,  and,  having  cut  off  his  head, 
Eglamoure  took  that  and  the  venison  to  the  Earl,  in 
witness  that  he  had  accomplished  his  first  task. 

He  was  immediately  set  another,  which  was  to  go  to  the 
land  of  Satyn,  wherever  that  was,  and  slay  a  boar  which 
had  tusks  a  yard  long,  and  had  so  ravaged  the  country 
that  no  man  could  live  there  ;  indeed,  he  found  his  way  to 
the  animal  by  the  corpses  and  skeletons  of  the  men  it  had 
slain.  Early  next  day  he  met  this  awful  beast  coming 
from  the  sea,  where  it  had  been  taking  its  morning  dratig Jit, 
and  when  it  saw  the  knight,  it  began  sharpening  its  tusks 
as  if  it  were  mad.  Sir  Eglamoure  tried  the  effects  of  a 
spear  upon  it,  but  it  had  no  effect  on  its  tough  hide  ;  and 
his  horse  having  been  slain  by  the  boar,  he  had  no  option 
but  to  continue  the  fight  on  foot.  Again  was  the  combat 
continued  for  three  days,  before  the  knight  was  victorious, 
and  could  add  the  boar's  head  and  tusks  to  his  other 
trophies. 

But  this  time  fate  ordained  that  he  should  not  return 
home  at  once,  for  the  roars  and  yells  of  the  boar  had 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  King  of  Satyn,  who,  with 
his  retinue,  was  out  hunting.  He  thought  it  was  some 


264  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

man  in  distress,  and  sent  a  squire  to  see,  who  arrived  just 
in  time  to  witness  the  end  of  the  fight.  He  reported  to 
the  king,  how  that  a  knight  had  slain  the  dreaded  boar, 
and  his  majesty  must  needs  go  and  see  that  doughty 
knight.  They  had  their  midday  meal  together  under  the 
shadow  of  the  trees,  and  the  king  invited  the  knight  to 
spend  the  night  with  him,  and  was  especially  delighted 
when  he  found  that  he  had  slain  Marocke,  for  he  was 
much  troubled  with  that  giant's  brother,  one  Manas. 
The  invitation  was  accepted,  and,  to  reinvigorate  him 
after  his  recent  severe  toil — 

Agaynst  even  the  kynge  dyd  dight 
A  bath  for  that  gentle  knyght 
That  was  of  herbes  good. 
Syr  Eglamoure  therein  laye 
Tyll  it  was  lyght  of  the  daye 
That  men  to  matyns  yode. 

After  he  had  heard  mass,  came  the  giant  Manas  calling 
out  to  the  king,  that  unless  he  sent  his  daughter  Ardanata 
to  him,  he  would  have  his  blood.  Sir  Eglamoure  could 
not  brook  this  insult  to  his  host,  so,  arming  himself,  he  went 
on  the  walls,  commanding  a  squire  to  show  the  giant  the 
head  of  the  slaughtered  boar.  At  the  sight  of  it  Manas 
bewailed  the  loss  of  his  "  lytell  speckled  hoglyne,"  and 
threatened  destruction  to  all  concerned  in  its  death.  Sir 
Eglamoure  mounted  his  steed,  couched  his  spear,  and  rode 
at  the  giant ;  but  he  might  as  well  have  ridden  against  a 
rock— man  and  horse  were  overthrown,  the  latter  killed, 


EGLAMOURE  OF  ARTOYS.  265 

the  former  sore  bruised.  Sir  Eglamoure  carried  on  the 
combat  on  foot,  cut  off  the  giant's  hand,  and  allowed  the 
huge  monster  to  tire  himself  out,  so  that  about  eventide  he 
killed  him.  Great  was  the  joye  at  Satyn,  and  the  king 
wished  to  abdicate,  and  give  him  not  only  his  kingdom, 
but  his  daughter.  Sir  Eglamoure  gratefully  declined  both, 
saying  he  had  other  work  on  hand  ;  but  the  fair  Ardanata 
gave  him  a  ring,  which  would  bear  him  harmless  either  on 
land  or  water. 

Taking  the  heads  both  of  the  giant  and  the  boar,  Sir 
Eglamoure  returned  to  the  court  of  Artois,  where  his  first 
visit  was  to  his  lady  love,  who  sprang  to  meet  him. 
Having  kissed  her,  he  went  to  the  hall  to  see  Earl 
Prynsamoure,  who  never  expected  that  the  knight  could 
have  come  safely  out  of  the  ordeal ;  and  his  disappointment 
was  so  great,  that  he  cast  aside  his  previous  dissimulation. 

The  erle  answered,  and  was  full  of  wo, 
What  devyll !  may  nothynge  the  slo  ? 
Forsothe  ryght  as  I  wene 
Thou  art  aboute,  as  I  understande, 
For  to  wynne  Artoys  and  all  my  lande, 
And  also  my  doughter  clene. 

Sir  Eglamoure  replied  that  was  so,  provided  he  proved 
himself  worthy  ;  and  the  Earl,  thinking  that  he  might  fail 
in  the  third  adventure,  wished  him  to  commence  it  at 
once.  But  the  knight  pleaded  the  labours  and  fatigues  he 
had  but  just  undergone,  and  asked  for  three  months'  repose, 
which  was  granted. 


266  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Syr  Eglamoure,  after  souper, 
Went  to  Crystabelles  chamber 
With  torches  brennynge  bryght. 
The  lady  was  of  so  great  pryde 
.She  set  hym  on  her  bedde  syde, 
And  sayde  welcome  Syr  Knyght. 
Then  Eglamoure  dyd  her  tell 
Of  adventures  that  him  befell, 
But  there  he  dwelled  all  nyght. 
Damosell,  he  sayd,  so  God  me  spede, 
I  hope  to  God  you  for  to  wedde  ; 
And  then  theyr  trouthes  plyght. 

To  their  mutual  grief  the  three  months  expired,  and  the 
Earl  set  Sir  Eglamoure  his  third  "and  final  task.  He  told 
him  that  at  Rome  there  was  a  dragon,  which  was  of  such 
might,  that  it  prevented  any  one  from  going  within  five 
miles  of  the  city,  and  his  task  was  to  slay  the  venomous 
beast.  He  set  out  on  his  adventure  in  good  spirits,  having 
taken  an  affectionate  farewell  of  his  lady  love,  to  whom  he 
gave  the  gold  ring  with  which  Ardanata  had  presented 
him,  to  keep  him  in  special  remembrancer 

Arrived  at  Rome,  he  soon  found  the  dragon,  and  in  a 
short  time  they  were  hotly  engaged  ;  but  when  the  dragon 
had  lost  its  tail,  its  head,  and  its  wings,  a  blow  which 
cleaved  its  backbone  settled  it,  and  it  gave  up  the  ghost. 
But  this  was  not  achieved  without  grievous  hurt  to  the 
knight.  Great  rejoicings  were  at  Rome  at  the  slaying  of 
the  dragon,  and  Constantine,  the  emperor,  gave  orders  to 
fetch  the  knight  with  triumph  into  the  city.  But  Sir 
Eglamoure  was  nearly  dead,  and  it  was  only  the  medical 


SIR  EGLAMOURE  OF  A R TOYS.  267 

skill  of  the  emperor's  daughter,  Vyatdurs,  that  saved 
his  life. 

But  his  healing  and  convalescence  took  so  long  a  time, 
that,  ere  he  could  get  back  to  Artois,  to  claim  his 
guerdon,  and  wed  Christabel,  she  had  borne  a  son ;  at  which 
the  king  was  so  incensed,  that  he  put  her  and  her  little 
child  alone  on  board  a  ship,  and  left  them  to  the  mercy  of 
the  waves,  disregarding  all  entreaties  to  the  contrary. 

In  spite  of  the  talismanic  ring,  the  ship,  after  many  days' 
voyaging,  ran  on  a  rock,  and  left  them  on  a  land  overrun 
with  wild  beasts.  With  trembling  limbs  she  staggered 
inland,  in  great  fear,  her  babe,  who  was  wrapped  in  a 
scarlet  mantle  and  gold  girdle,  in  her  arms  ;  when  a  griffin, 
descending  from  the  skies,  snatched  at  her  child,  and, 
tearing  it  from  her,  flew  away.  Words  cannot  depict  her 
grief.  The  griffin  pursued  its  way  until  it  came  to  the 
kingdom  of  Israel  ;  and  the  king  of  that  country,  being  out 
hunting,  espied  the  griffin,  and  made  it  drop  its  burden. 
He  took  up  the  boy,  carried  him  home,  and,  finding  from 
his  clothes  that  he  was  of  gentle  blood,  brought  him  up 
and  educated  him  as  his  son,  christening  him  Degrabell. 

Christabel  returned  to  the  ship,  which  was  blown  off  the 
rocks,  and  for  five  days  she  drifted  about  without  food, 
until  she  arrived  on  the  coast  of  Egypt.  Sir  Marmaduke 
the  king,  being  in  his  tower,  saw  the  derelict,  and  sent  a 
squire  to  inspect  it,  who  reported  that  it  contained  but  a 
beautiful  female,  who  could  but  make  signs  to  him.  She 


268  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

was  taken  on  shore,  fed  well,  and  then  brought  before  the 
king,  to  whom  she  told  her  sad  tale.  He  turned  out  to  be 
her  uncle,  and  at  his  court  she  abode. 

The  Romance  now  turns  to  Eglamoure,  who,  being  whole 
and  sound,  was  desirous  of  returning  to  Artois  ;  which  he 
did,  taking  with  him  the  dragon's  head.  On  his  landing, 
he  heard  the  sad  fate  of  Christabel  and  their  babe.  After 
fainting,  he  went  in -a  very  excited  state  to  the  Earl's  hall, 
where,  finding  that  nobleman,  he  roughly  addressed  him — 

And  thou  erle  of  Artoys, 
Take,  he  sayde,  the  Dragons  hede  ; 
All  is  myne  that  here  is  leved, 
What  doest  thou  in  my  place  ? 

He  then  called  wildly  on  Christabel,  and  behaved  in  such 
a  frenzied  way  that  it  is  no  wonder 

The  erle  was  so  ferde  of  Eglamoure, 
That  he  was  fayne  to  take  the  toure. 

When  he  got  calmer,  he  dubbed  two  and  thirty  knights, 
and  then  he  left  for  the  Holy  Land,  where  he  abode  fifteen 
years,  doing  great  deeds  of  arms,  both  in  battle  and 
tournament. 

The  King  of  Israel  was  getting  old,  and  Degrabell, 
having  arrived  at  a  proper  age,  was  by  him  dubbed  knight, 
and  received  as  arms  a  golden  griffin  on  an  azure  field, 
having  in  its  claws  a  man  child  in  a  mantle,  bound  with  a 
girdle  of  gold.  And  the  old  king  told  him  that  it  was 


EGLAMOURE  OF  ARTOYS.  269 

time  he  should  think  about  marrying,  and  that  in  Egypt 
was  "  a  svvete  thynge." 

Although  Degrabell  was  but  fifteen  years  old,  he  was 
taller  than  the  other  knights  by  a  foot,  and,  being  considered 
perfectly  marriageable,  the  King  of  Israel  set  out  for  Egypt 
with  Degrabell  and  a  company  of  knights.  On  their 

arrival, 

The  Kynge  of  Israel  on  lande  goeth, 

The  King  of  Egypt  by  the  hand  hym  taketh, 

And  ledde  hym  into  the  hall. 

Syr,  sayd  the  Kynge,  for  charyte 

Wyll  ye  let  me  your  daughter  se, 

Whyte  as  bone  of  whall. 

The  lady  fro  the  chambre  was  brought, 

With  mannes  hande  she  semed  wrought 

And  carved  out  of  tre.1 

Her  owne  sonne  stode  and  behelde, 

Well  worthe  him  that  might  welde,2 

Thus  to  hymselfe  thought  he. 

The  Kynge  of  Israel  asked  than 

If  that  she  myght  passe  the  streme 

His  sonnes  wyfe  for  to  be. 

Syr,  said  the  Kynge,  yf  that  ye  maye 

Mete  me  a  stroke  to  morrowe  daye, 

Thine  askinge  graunt  I  the. 

On  the  morrow  the  lists  were  prepared,  and  Degrabell 
and  King  Marmaduke  met  in  mimic  combat ;  but  the 
former,  at  the  first  course,  unhorsed  the  king,  a  feat  which 
caused  that  monarch  to  say  that  he  was  worthy  of 
Christabel,  and  the  couple  were  taken  to  church  and 
married.  But  when  Christabel  saw  his  arms,  she  wept  full 

1  Wood.  a  Govern. 


270  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

sore,  and  when  questioned  on  the  subject,  she  told  her  tale 
of  how  her  child  had  been  reft  from  her  by  a  griffin  ;  and 
the  King  of  Israel  joined  in  with  his  story  of  how  such  a 
child  had  been  found.  An  eclaircissement  took  place  : 
the  queen  recognized  in  Degrabell  her  son,  he,  in  her,  his 
mother,  and  of  course,  under  these  circumstances,  the 
marriage  was  considered  null. 

But  her  uncle,  considering  that  she  ought  to  be  married, 
asked  her  which  of  the  knights  she  would  choose.  In  this 
matter,  however,  Degrabell  had  a  word  to  say,  and  he 
would  not  consent  to  his  mother  marrying  any  one,  except 
that  he  won  her  in  fair  fight  as  he  had  done ;  and  as  every 
lord  wished  to  compete  for  so  fair  a  prize,  it  was  decided, 
and  proclaimed  far  and  near,  that  a  tournament  should  be 
held,  at  an  appointed  time,  to  settle  their  claims. 

Sir  Eglamoure  having  by  this  time  tired  of  living  in 
Syria,  was  on  his  way  home,  when  he  heard  of  this  tourna- 
ment, and  determined  to  be  present.  He  went  there,  and 
was  conspicuous  by  his  beautiful  armour,  and  his  heraldic 

bearings. 

He  beareth  in  Azure  a  shyppe  of  golde, 
Full  rychely  portreyed  in  the  molde, 
Full  well  and  worthely. 
The  see  was  made  both  grymme  and  bolde, 
A  yonge  chylde  of  a  nyght  olde 
And  a  woman  lyenge  thereby. 
Of  sylver  was  the  mast,  of  gold  the  fain,1 
Sayle,  rope,  cabels,  echone 8 
Paynted  were  worthely. 
1  The  weathercock  a- top  of  the  mast.  2  Each  or  every  one. 


EGLAMO  URE  OF  ARTO  VS.  271 

Degrabell  did  wonders  ;  knight  succeeded  knight  only  to 
be  worsted,  until,  last  of  all,  it  came  to  the  turn  of  Sir 
Eglamoure,  who,  after  a  brief  parley,  engaged  with  his  son. 
The  latter  could  not  stand  against  the  veteran,  fresh  from 
his  deeds  of  arms  in  heathenesse. 

Syr  Eglamoure,  as  it  was  happe, 
He  gave  his  sonne  suche  a  rappe 
That  to  the  grounde  vvente  he. 
Alas,  than  sayd  lady  fare, 
My  sonne  is  dead,  by  goddes  pitie, 
The  kene  knyght  hath  hym  slayne. 

He  was  only  shaken,  but  the  tournament  was  at  an  end  ; 
and,  after  disarming,  the  knights  joined  in  feasting.  Sir 
Eglamoure,  as  being  the  victor,  was  placed  at  Christabel's 
side,  and  she  asked  him  why  he  bore  such  arms.  He  replied 
that  his  lady  and  his  young  son  had  "been  sent  to  sea  in  an 
open  boat  by  her  father.  Breathlessly  she  asked  his  name, 
and,  when  she  heard  it,  she  naturally  fainted.  Mutual 
explanations  took  place,  and  universal  joy  reigned  around. 
The  wedding  was  settled  to  take  place  at  Artois,  and  Sir 
Eglamoure  invited  the  three  kings  of  Israel,  Egypt,  and 
Satyn,  to  be  present — the  latter  having  promised  that  his 
daughter  Ardanata  should  marry  Degrabell. 

Over  the  sea  they  went  right  joyously,  and  soon  arrived 
at  Artois,  where 

The  erle  than  in  a  toure  stode, 
He  sawe  men  passe  the  salt  floode 
And  fast  his  horse  gan  dryve. 


272  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Whan  he  herde  of  Eglamoure 
He  fell  out  of  his  toure, 
And  brake  his  necke  belyve.1 

This  event  did  not  in  any  manner  hinder  the  marriages, 
which  duly  took  place,  graced  by  the  presence  of  the 
Emperor  Constantine.  The  King  of  Israel  gave  half  his 
land  to  Degrabell,  with  the  promise  of  the  reversion  of  the 
whole  at  his  decease,  and 

With  mykell  myrthe  the  feast  was  made, 

Fourty  dayes  it  abode 

Among  all  lordes  hende.2 

And  than  forsothe,  as  I  you  saye, 

Every  man  toke  his  owne  waye 

Where  hym  lyked  to  dwell. 

1  Quickly.  2  Gentle,  polite. 


of 

THE  British  Museum  is  very  rich  in  MSS.  of  this 
Romance  —  beginning  with  one  of  the  rarest 
quality  .  (Harley  3775),  vellum,  circa  1300.  The 
Royal,  Sloane,  Additional,  Cotton,  Harleian,  and  Lans- 
downe  Collections,  all  have  MSS.  of  fourteenth  and 
fifteenth  century,  but  the  earliest  known  printed  copy  is 
French.  "  Cy  Commence  Guy  de  Warwick,  chevalier 
d'Angleterre,  qui  en  son  temps  fit  plusieurs  prouesses  et 
conquestes  en  Angleterre,  en  Allemaigne,  Ytalie  et 
Dannemarche,  et  aussi  sur  les  infidelles  ennemys  de  la 
chrestienete.  Par.  Fr.  Regnault,  7  Mars.  1525."  And 
Hazlitt  says  that  in  the  Bodleian  Library  is  one  leaf 
containing  thirty  lines  on  a  page,  printed  with  Wynkyn  de 
Worde's  types.  I  have  taken  mine  from  a  copy  printed  by 
Copland,  attributed  to  1560  (?). 

The  fire  at  Warwick  Castle  on  Advent  Sunday,  1871, 
spared    the   so-called    relics   of  Guy,   and    they   are   now 

19 


274  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

removed  from  the  porter's  lodge,  .  .  .  where  they  were 
formerly  kept,  to  the  Great  Hall.  One  William  Hoggeson, 
yeoman  of  the  buttery,  had,  temp.  Henry  VIII.,  2d.  per 
diem  allowed  him  for  the  custody  of  Guy's  sword.  There  are 
his  shield,  helmet,  breastplate,  walking-staff  and  tilting-pole, 
all  of  great  size,  though  the  Romance  does  not  speak  of  his 
being  taller  than  his  fellows — any  more  than  it  mentions  his 
slaying  a  dun  cow,  which  is  an  article  of  firm  belief  in 
Warwickshire.  His  porridge-pot  is  but  a  garrison  crock  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  and  his  flesh-fork  is  a  military  fork, 
temp.  Henry  VI II.,  so  that  the  other  relics  are  probably  as 
authentic. 

Earl  Rohaunt  was  not  only  Earl  of  Warwick,  but  of 
Oxford  and  Buckingham,  and  his  daughter  Phelys,  or 
Phyllis,  was  not  only  very  beautiful,  but  as  learned  as  if  she 
had  studied  at  Girton.  His  estate  was  well  administered 
by  his  steward,  Segurd  of  Wallingford,  whose  son  Guy — 
the  hero  of  the  Romance — was  of  beautiful  form  and 
features,  graceful,  active,  and  courageous.  He  was  chief 
cupbearer  to  the  Earl,  and  in  that  capacity  had  ample 
opportunities  of  beholding  the  fair  Phyllis,  with  whom  he 
fell  deeply  in  love. 

It  was  the  feast  of  Pentecost,  which  was  celebrated  by 
the  Earl  with  great  solemnity,  with  jousting,  hunting,  and 
hawking,  and  it  so  happened  that  Guy  was  commanded  by 
his  noble  master  to  look  after  the  welfare  of  the  ladies  at 


GUY  OF  WARWICK.  275 

dinner.  His  graceful  form  called  forth  many  a  glance 
from  the  fair  damsels  ;  and  even  the  incomparable  Phyllis, 
when  he  presented  her  with  water  to  wash  her  hands,  as 
was  the  custom  then,  both  before  and  after  meat,  deigned 
to  ask  his  name. 

From  that  time  Guy's  fate  was  sealed,  and  he  took  the 
bold  step  of  declaring  his  passion.  Phyllis  simply  treated 
the  youth  as  an  inferior  who  had  been  guilty  of  a  grave 
presumption,  and  he  went  away  disconsolate.  In  those 
•days  despairing  lovers  lost  flesh  rapidly,  and  were  soon 
brought  to  death's  door,  Guy  being  no  exception,  and,  in 
•spite  of  the  most  learned  physicians,  he  was  near  dying; 
and  yet  these  leeches  could  not  diagnose  his  case,  nor  say 
what  was  his  malady,  the  symptoms,  according  to  an  old 
MS.,  being — 

In  my  bed  comyth  a  colde  blode, 

That  makyth  me  to  qwake,  as  y  were  wode ; z 

Aftur,  comyth  a  strong  hete 

That  makyth  my  body  for  to  swete  : 

All  I  brenne,2  boone3  and  hyde* 

All  hote,  as  any  glede.5 

Thys  ys  my  lyfe  nyght  and  daye, 

For  payne  reste  y  ne  maye. 

Luckily  for  him,  at  this  juncture  the  lady  Phyllis  had  a 
•dream,  or,  to  use  a  stronger  term,  angelic  vision,  in  which 
an  angel  visited  her  and  bade  her  love  her  humble  suitor  ; 
and  that  same  night,  Guy,  feeling  his  strength  almost 
•exhausted,  went  painfully  into  the  garden,  with  the 

-1  As  if  I  were  mad.         2  Burn.         3  Bone.         4  Skin.          s  A  red-hot  coal. 


276  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

determination  of  making  a  final  appeal  to  the  object  of 
his  affection.  He  found  her,  with  but  one  attendant,  and 
having  told  her  how  he  was  dying  for  love  of  her,  he  cast 
himself  on  the  ground  swooning.  At  this  her  womanly 
nature  asserted  itself,  and,  after  he  came  to  himself,  she 
mildly  rated  him,  winding  up  by  telling  him  that  before 
she  could  become  his  wife  he  must  be  dubbed  a  knight. 

This  set  him  off  swooning  again,  this  time  for  joy,  and 
when  he  recovered  he  went  to  the  Earl,  and  begged  him 
to  knight  him.  To  this  Earl  Rohaunt  consented,  more 
especially  as  he  had  a  batch  of  twenty  squires  on  hand, 
waiting  to  be  dubbed.  As  soon  as  he  had  received  his  new 
dignity,  he  sought  Phyllis  and  pressed  his  suit,  but  she 
gave  him  to  understand  that  she  meant  that  he  must  be  an 
approved  knight  before  she  would  wed  him. 

Therefore,  Sir  Guy,  with  wordes  few, 
My  wyll  to  thee  now  will  I  shew  : 
At  thy  wyll  gettest  thou  not  mee, 
Tyll  thou  so  doughty  a  knyght  bee, 
That  thou  have  in  this  worlde  no  pere, 
In  no  lande  farre  ne  nere, 
And  that  thou  here  the  maystry, 
And  floure  of  all  chevalry  ; 
And  when  thou  [art]  so  noble  tolde 
That  in  this  worlde  be  none  so  bolde, 
Thou  shalt  then  have  the  love  of  mee, 
At  thy  wyll  so  wyll  I  be. 

Being,  probably,  well  aware  of  the  firm  character  of  his 
beloved,  Guy  accepted  the  situation  without  murmur ;  and 
after  kissing  her,  he  went  straight  to  the  Earl,  and  asked 


GUY  OF  WARWICK.  277 

his  permission  to  leave  his  service,  and  go  across  the  sea  to 
seek  adventures.  Earl  Rohaunt  asked  him  why  he  wanted 
to  leave,  whether  he  lacked  anything ;  but,  finally,  gave  his 
consent,  and  Guy  went  to  his  parents  to  acquaint  them 
with  his  determination.  Both  his  father  and  mother  tried 
to  persuade  him  not  to  go,  but  he  would  not  yield  ;  and, 
having  received  their  blessing,  he  soon  set  sail. 

He  landed  at  Normandy,  went  to  Spain  and  Germany, 
in  all  of  which  countries  he  distinguished  himself;  after 
which  he  went  to  Lombardy,  in  company  with  three 
knights,  Sirs  Heraude,  Urry,  and  Thorold.  Here  Duke 
Otho  of  Pauy  (or  Pavia),  who  had  been  wounded  by  Guy 
in  Brittany,  instructed  fifteen  of  his  knights  to  waylay  our 
hero,  slay  his  companions,  and  bring  him  to  the  duke. 
But  they  reckoned  not  on  the  prowess  of  Guy  and  his 
companions  ;  a  fearful  fight  ensued.  Of  Guy's  three 
knights  two  were  slain,  and  himself  wounded  ;  yet  but 
one  of  the  Lombards  returned  to  tell  the  tale  of  their 
discomfiture  to  Duke  Otho.  Heraude  was  thought  to  be 
dead,  but  a  monk  discovered  a  spark  of  life  in  him,  and 
he  eventually  recovered.  Guy  was  healed  of  his  wound, 
and  afterwards  went  into  Poland,  thence  to  Saxony, 
and  in  both  places  he  was  made  welcome  on  account  of 
his  marvellous  feats  of  arms.  Thence  he  proceeded  to 
Burgundy,  at  which  court  he  abode  some  time. 

Here,  one  day,  being  hunting,  he  met  with  a  palmer, 
who  turned  out  to  be  no  other  than  his  old  knight  com- 


2 78  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

panion  Heraude,  who,  since  his  convalescence,  had  been 
seeking  Guy.  Joyfully  they  returned  together  to  the 
court  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  and,  soon  after,  they  took 
their  leave,  with  the  intention  of  returning  to  their  own 
country.  But  at  Saint  Omers  they  met  a  palmer  who 
told  them  that  the  Emperor  Raynere  had  besieged  Duke 
Segwyn  of  Lavayne,  because  the  latter  had  slain  his 
cousin  Sadock.  If  there  was  any  fighting  to  be  done, 
Guy  must  be  in  it,  and,  on  hearing  this  news,  he  and 
Heraude  made  up  their  minds  to  go  and  help  the  duke ; 
and  they  did  so,  taking  with  them  fifty  knights. 

They  arrived  at  Duke  Segwyn's  town,  abode  there 
all  night,  and,  on  the  morrow,  hearing  that  the  emperor's 
troops  were  advancing,  led  by  his  steward,  who  was  a 
mighty  man  of  valour,  they  sallied  out,  and,  aided  by  a 
sortie  from  the  town,  utterly  routed  the  Germans,  taking 
the  steward,  and  several  of  the  nobility,  prisoners. 

The  emperor  did  not  take  this  reverse  kindly,  but 
threatened  to  annihilate  the  duke  and  Sir  Guy ;  and  Otho 
(Guy's  old  foe)  assured  the  monarch  that  he  should  be 
well  avenged  before  seven  days  should  have  passed. 
With  him  went  Raynere,  Duke  of  Saxony,  and  Wando- 
mere,  the  Constable  of  Cologne ;  but  they  only  went  to 
defeat,  for  the  troops  were  routed.  Guy  sorely  wounded 
his  enemy,  Duke  Otho,  and  the  other  two  leaders  were  taken 
prisoners.  It  was  in  this  battle  that  Sir  Terry,  who  was 
afterwards  one  of  Guy's  firmest  friends,  distinguished 
himself  mightily. 


G  UY  OF  WAR  WICK.  2  79 

The  emperor  was  playing  at  chess,  when  he  saw  Sir 
Terry  spurring  furiously,  drawn  sword  in  hand ;  all 
wounded  was  he,  and  his  armour  rent,  his  hauberk  and 
basinet  hacked  and  hewed.  Soon  were  told  his  heavy 
tidings  respecting  the  defeat  of  the  imperial  army,  and 
the  emperor  nearly  lost  his  reason  on  hearing  the  bad 
news;  but 

He  sware  by  God,  that  had  him  bought, 
He  should  never  be  glad  in  thought 
Till  he  the  Duke  had  in  hande 
And  brent  and  destroyed  all  his  Lande. 

So  the  emperor  set  out  at  the  head  of  his  army,  and 
with  him  rode  his  son  Sir  Gayre.  But  when  they  were 
come  before  the  town,  Guy  sallied  forth  with  a  thousand 
knights,  and  not  only  took  Sir  Gayre  prisoner,  but  so 
demoralized  the  enemy,  that  the  emperor  had  to  send  a 
reinforcement  of  two  thousand  men,  who,  being  more  than 
the  besieged  cared  to  cope  with,  they  retired  into  the 
shelter  of  their  town,  absolutely  weary  of  fighting. 

When  the  Emperour  heard  sayne 
That  his  sonne  was  taken  certayn, 
He  sayd,  and  made  an  hydyous  crye, 
Assayle  the  Cittie  hastily. 
His  men  so  did  without  fayle, 
The  Cittie  they  faste  assayle  ; 
Stones  they  thrue  at  the  towne 
For  to  fell  the  walles  downe  ; 
They  shoten  with  noble  albasters  l 
And  great  plenty  of  good  Archers  ; 

1  Cross-bowmen. 


28o  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

They  clymed  upon  the  walles  of  stone 

For  to  take  the  towne  anone  ; 

But  they  within  had  no  doubt, 

With  strength  ynough  they  put  them  out. 

And  the  siege  went  on,  to  the  great  daily  loss  of  the 
Germans ;  till,  one  day,  a  spy  brought  news  that  the 
emperor  was  going  to  hunt  in  the  forest.  The  duke 
thought  to  take  a  great  force,  with  some  of  his  trustiest 
knights,  and  capture  him,  but  Guy  said  that  he  would 
undertake  the  task.  So,  taking  with  him  a  thousand 
knights,  he  rode  into  the  forest,  where  he  found  the  king 
hunting. 

With  that  came  Guy  forth  anone  right, 

On  a  noble  steede  full  fast  prickand,1 

A  branch  of  Olyve  in  his  hand, 

That  betokeneth  peace  to  be ; 

The  Emperour  well  fayre  greeted  he. 

Guy  sayd,  God  that  is  full  of  might, 

Save  thee,  syr  gentle  knight, 

And  give  thy  menne  happe  2  and  grace, 

Well  to  rede 3  thee  in  this  place. 

Duke  Segwyn  sendeth  me  to  thee, 

That  in  good  maner  will  love  thee, 

With  glad  cheare  he  prayeth  you 

To  harborow 4  with  him  now. 

He  shall  you  welcome,  and  your  Barrons, 

With  Swannes,  Craynes,  and  Herons, 

And  make  you  right  well  at  ease ; 

These  wordes,  quod  Guy,  be  no  lese.5 

Duke  Segwyne  will  yeelde  thee 

His  Castle  and  his  good  Cittie, 

And  all  landes  lowde  and  still, 

And  himselfe  at  your  owne  will. 

Spurring.         2Luck.        3  Counsel,  advice.        4  Live.        5  Are  true. 


GUY  OF  WARWICK.  281 

Therfore,  Syr,  I  warne  you 
To  him  ye  must  with  me  now, 
For  what  more  can  he  to  thee  do, 
Than  thus  meekely  send  thee  to  ? 

But  although  Guy  said  that  he  was  speaking  without 
"  lese,"  both  the  parties  knew  that  it  meant  capture  and 
polite  imprisonment.  The  emperor,  for  form's  sake,  con- 
sulted with  the  King  of  Hungary,  Duke  Otho,  Sir  Terry, 
and  others  of  his  nobility,  and  decided  to  endorse  the 
fiction,  and  go  to  visit  Duke  Segwyn  as  his  guest. 

Arrived  at  the  city,  Sir  Guy  did  the  honours,  Segwyn 
keeping  out  of  sight ;  as  indeed  he  did  until  he  had  seen 
the  knights  and  barons  his  prisoners,  whom  he  begged  to 
intercede  for  him  with  the  emperor.  This  they  willingly 
agreed  to  do ;  and  the  duke  appeared  before  his  imperial 
master  barefoot  and  in  his  shirt  only,  with  an  olive  branch 
in  his  hand,  and,  falling  on  his  knees,  he  begged  forgive- 
ness— 

And  said,  Syr,  mercy  certayne 
I  will  no  more  warre  thee  agayne, 
For  that  I  have  grevyd  thee  yll, 
I  and  all  myne  is  at  thy  wyll. 

He  pleaded  that  Sadock  had  but  himself  to  thank  for 
his  death,  having  provoked  the  quarrel  which  led  to  their 
combat ;  but,  if  the  king  thought  fit,  he  would  sustain 
his  cause  to  be  righteous,  with  his  body.  The  emperor's 
nobility  interceded  in  his  behalf,  led  by  the  imperial  heir, 
Sir  Gayre,  who  spoke  thus  : 


282  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Father,  he  sayd,  by  Saynt  Martyn 
A  noble  man  is  Duke  Segwyn, 
And  a  doughty  man  of  dede  ; 
He  may  you  helpe  at  your  neede. 
Forgyve  him,  I  pray  you  now, 
That  he  hath  trespassed  agaynst  you  ; 
Or,  certes,  syr,  sayd  he, 
Love  get  ye  none  of  me. 

Guy  added  his  intercession,  and  the  emperor  forgave  the 
duke  freely  ;  an  act  which  did  not  pass  without  comment 
among  his  peers — one  of  whom,  Duke  Otho,  stigmatized 
the  emperor  as  a  "  false  traytour  "  for  making  friends  with 
one  who  had  shed  a  kinsman's  blood.  The  fiery  Guy  at 
once  wanted  to  fight  him  ;  peace  was  with  difficulty  re- 
stored, and  a  double  marriage  cemented  this  reconciliation. 

Then  wedded  Duke  Raynere,  with  glee, 
Segwyn's  syster,  a  mayden  free, 
And  led  her,  as  I  understand, 
To  Burntswick  his  owne  lande. 
Then  sayde  the  riche  Emperour 
To  Duke  Segwyne,  wyth  great  honour, 
Now  never  more  to  be  at  stryfe, 
Therefore  I  will  give  thee  a  wyfe, 
A  fay  re  mayden  that  is  niece  myne. 
Gramercy,  Syr,  sayd  Duke  Segwyne. 
Of  them  was  made  a  fayre  wedding. 

After  the  usual  festivity,  Sir  Guy  took  his  leave,  and 
accompanied  the  emperor ;  and,  as  they  went  on  their 
way,  occasionally  hunting  and  hawking,  he  espied  a 
dormound,1  and  immediately  interrogated  the  skipper,  as 

1  A  dromond,  or  armed  vessel. 


GUY  OF  WARWICK.  283 

to  what  country  he  was  of,  &c.  "  Sayd  a  marry ner  full 
tight  "  that  they  hailed  from  Constantinople,  and  that  a 
Soudan,  or  Sultan,  had  invaded  their  territory  with  sixty 
thousand  men,  and  had  besieged  the  Greek  emperor, 
Ernis,  had  destroyed  all  his  troops,  and  taken  all  his  land, 
save  that  city. 

On  hearing  this,  Guy  consulted  with  his  old  friend 
Heraude,  and  the  upshot  was,  that,  refusing  the  "  landes 
and  fee "  offered  him  by  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  he 
chose  a  thousand  knights,  and  with  them  immediately  set 
sail.  The  distressed  Grecian  emperor  received  them  with 
effusion,  and  offered  his  daughter  to  Guy  in  marriage. 
Sir  Guy  and  his  knights  turned  the  tide  of  war;  they 
defeated  the  Soudan's  troops,  Guy  killed  his  nephew, 
Coldran,  and  so  grievously  wounded  Eskeldart,  who  was 
the  Saracen's  chief  general,  that  he  had  but  time  to  reach 
home  before  he  died,  having  told  his  tale  to  his  master, 
the  Soudan,  who  vowed  he  would  destroy  Constantinople. 

But  Guy  had  foes  within  doors,  as  well  as  without.  The 
emperor  had  promised  him  great  rewards,  and,  among 
them,  the  hand  of  his  daughter,  Loret ;  but  the  steward  of 
the  Emperor  of  Germany,  one  Morgradour,  loved  her,  and 
would  fain  have  both  her  and  her  father's  dominions.  This 
he  essayed  to  compass  by  craft,  and,  pretending  a  great 
love  for  Guy,  he  one  day  suggested  that  they  should  go  and 
have  a  game  at  chess  in  the  fair  Loret's  chamber — which 
they  accordingly  did  ;  but,  on  the  conclusion  of  the  game, 


284  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Morgradour  made  some  excuse  and  left  the  room,  taking 
horse,  however,  immediately,  and  rushing  off  to  the 
Emperor  Ernis  to  tell  him  that  Guy  was  in  his  daughter's 
chamber,  whither  he  had  gone  with  felonious  intent,  and 
counselled  Guy's  instant  hanging — in  which  case  he  pro- 
mised he  would  go  to  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  and  bring 
such  a  force  as  would  completely  rid  Ernis  of  his  enemies. 
But  the  latter  could  not  believe  the  steward. 

Then  sayd  Ernis  the  Emperour, 
Let  be  thy  tales,  Morgradour, 
That  gentle  knight  would  not  doe  this 
For  all  the  Empyre,  I  wys. 

So  the  false  traitor  rode  back  to  Sir  Guy,  and  told  him 
how  the  emperor  had  made  such  an  accusation  against 
him,  and  was  coming  to  hang  him.  Guy  believed  his 
lying  words,  and,  determining  not  to  stop  to  be  hanged, 
he  gathered  his  knights  together,  explained  to  them  the 
situation,  and  told  them  he  was  going  to  join  the  emperor's 
enemies.  But,  as  they  were  putting  their  plan  into  exe- 
cution, they  met  the  emperor,  and,  after  a  few  words  of 
explanation,  they  were  reconciled. 

The  next  day  was  a  great  battle  with  the  Saracens, 
ending  in  the  defeat  of  the  latter ;  an  event  which  had  a 
peculiar  effect  upon  the  Soudan,  who  attributed  it  to  the 
mefficacy  of  his  gods. 

Then  sayd  the  Soudan  so  grim, 
To  bring  his  Gods  before  him, 


GUY  OF  WARWICK.  285 

Gods,  he  sayd,  evil  mote  ye  be, 

For  evil,  he  sayd,  have  ye  quit  me. 

With  honour,  he  sayd,  I  have  served  you, 

And  will  I  have  my  meede *  now. 

Therefore  I  shall  on  you  bewreke,3 

All  your  neckes  I  shall  doe  breake. 

He  began  to  lay  on  fast, 

While  a  stafife  in  his  hande  might  laste, 

He  all  to  hew  them  and  gan  fayne, 

Ye  shall  be  brent,  forsooth,  certayne  ; 

For  ye  be  worse  than  houndes, 

That  ever  I  saw  ye  wo  be  the  stounds.3 

Some  he  brent  on  a  low,4 

And  some  into  the  sea  gan  throw. 

In  the  meantime,  the  grateful  Emperor  Ernis  was  loading 
Sir  Guy  with  favours. 

That  good  Emperour  Ernis, 

Through  Guye's  helpe  to  winne  him  pryce,3 

Syr  Guy  he  gave  a  royall  bone,6 

With  all  his  Lande  his  will  7  to  done. 

But  this  only  excited  the  envy  and  hatred  of  Sir 
Morgradour,  who,  knowing  that  the  Soudan  would  kill 
any  messenger  sent  to  him,  suggested  to  the  emperor 
that  he  should  send  Sir  Guy  and  Sir  Heraude  as  ambassa- 
dors to  the  paynim  sovereign,  with  the  proposition  that, 
in  order  to  prevent  the  effusion  of  any  more  blood,  a 
champion  should  be  chosen  on  either  side,  by  whose  fate 
both  parties  should  abide,  the  same  as  if  both  armies 
engaged  and  one  was  victorious.  The  emperor  thought 

1  Reward.       2  Avenge.       3  Moments  or  time.       4  In  a  bright  fire. 
5  Prize.  6  Boon.  7  To  have  sole  authority  over  his  land. 


286  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

the  advice  good,  and  caused  all  his  barons  to  be  assembled ; 
which  was  done,  and  the  situation  was  explained  to  them  : 

But  in  that  hall  was  none  tho 
That  durst  prefer  him  to  go. 

Indeed,  an  old  white-bearded  knight  rose  up  and  denounced 
as  a  traitor  whoever  had  given  the  emperor  such  advice, 
reminding  his  sovereign  of  the  fate  of  his  cousin  Griffon, 
who,  being  sent  with  a  message  to  the  Sultan,  was  slain, 
and  his  head  returned  as  answer,  adding  that  it  was  not 
through  cowardice  that  he  spoke  thus,  but  through  his 
advanced  age,  it  being  a  hundred  years  since  he  had  been 
dubbed  knight ;  but,  had  he  been  in  his  lusty  youth,  he 
would  have  undertaken  the  embassage,  well  knowing  he 
was  going  to  his  death.  This,  however,  did  not  fire  the 
souls  of  any  in  that  assemblage,  save  only  Guy  and 
Heraude,  the  latter  chafing,  and  wishing  to  spring  to  his 
feet,  being  only  withheld  by  Guy,  who  wished  to  see 
whether  any  would  offer. 

But  no  knight  was  bold  enough,  so  Guy  stood  up  and 
accepted  the  adventure  ;  but  the  emperor,  who  could  not 
afford  to  lose  him,  replied  that  he  had  only  propounded 
the  task  to  try  which  of  his  barons  and  knights  would  do 
the  most  for  him.  Guy  would  not  retract  his  offer,  and  all 
the  emperor  and  his  court  could  do,  was  to  pray  for  his 
success  and  safe  return. 

When  fully  armed,  Guy  rode  forth  on  his  adventure, 
and  went  through  the  heathen  camp,  until  he  saw  a 


GUY  OF  WARWICK.  287 

pavilion,  on  which  was  an  enormous  carbuncle  ;  and,  by 
this,  he  guessed  it  was  the  Soudan's,  and  there  he  saw  that 
sovereign  sitting  at  meat  with  ten  kings,  and  all  his  barons 
round  him.  Riding  up  to  them,  he  opened  his  embassy  in 
the  following  extraordinary  manner,  which  would  seem 
but  little  calculated  to  achieve  the  desired  object. 

Lorde,  that  shape,  both  hote  and  colde, 
And  all  this  world  hath  in  holde, 
And  suffered  on  Crosse  passyons  fell 
To  buy  man's  soule  out  of  hell, 
Give  the  Soudan  his  malison,1 
And  all  that  leeven 2  on  Mahouwne  ; 
God's  curse  have  thou  and  thyne, 
And  tho  that  leeve  on  Apolyne. 

He  then  proceeded  to  deliver  the  emperor's  message. 
That  he  was  allowed  to  do  so  quietly,  speaks  volumes  for 
the  well-disciplined  tempers  of  the  Saracens  ;  the  Soudan, 
in  his  astonishment,  merely  asking 

.  .  .  What  art  thou 
That  thus  proudly  speakest  now  ? 
Yet  found  I  never  man  certayne, 
That  such  wordes  durst  me  sayne. 

When  Guy  declared  his  name,  the  Soudan  remembered 
all  the  evil  this  terrible  warrior  had  wrought  him,  and  at 
once  decreed  his  death,  commanding  him  to  be  kept  in 
prison  until  dinner  was  finished.  But  our  hero  did  not 
wait  for  this  command  to  be  obeyed  ;  he  rode  straight  at 
the  Soudan,  cut  off  his  head,  and,  taking  it  in  his  left 

1  Curse.  2  Believe. 


288  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

hand,  he  charged  through  the  Saracen  host,  killing  all  who 
opposed.  Superior  numbers,  however,  told  upon  him,  and 
he  was  sorely  pressed,  when  Heraude,  who  had  been 
warned  of  his  friend's  need  in  a  dream,  came  with  a  strong 
body  of  German  knights,  turned  the  tide  of  battle,  and 
escorted  the  victorious  Guy  to  the  emperor,  to  whom  he 
delivered  the  Soudan's  head. 


And  all  the  belles  of  the  Citie 
Rong  with  great  solemnitie. 
Agayn *  Syr  Guy  the  people  came  tho, 
And  every  man  blessed  him  also, 
And  sayd  Christ  give  him  good  fare, 
That  thus  hath  brought  us  out  of  care. 

Sir  Guy  took  an  original  method  of  disposing  of  his 
enemy's  remains,  for  he  had  the  Soudan's  head  enclosed  in 
brass,  richly  gilt,  and  set  upon  a  marble  pillar  in  the  midst 
of  the  market-place. 

In  those  days  people  were  restless,  and  the  empero^ 
having  no  war  on  hand,  resolved  on  a  tour  through  his 
dominions,  to  see  each  town,  and  repair  the  ravages  of  the 
Saracens.  Sir  Guy,  of  course,  accompanied  him,  and  it 
fell  on  a  summer's  day  that  he  saw  a  dragon  chasing  a. 
lion.  This  was  a  temptation  too  great  for  Guy. 

To  his  knightes  then  said  Guyon, 
I  will  go  fyght  agayne  yonder  Dragon, 
That  would  slea  yonder  gentle  Beast; 
Abyde  me  here,  both  moste  and  least. 

1  Opposite,  right  before. 


GUY  OF  WARWICK.  289 

A  terrific  combat  naturally  ensued,  which,  of  course, 
ended  in  a  victory  for  Guy,  who  cut  off  the  dragon's  head ; 
nor  would  the  fight  travel  out  of  the  ordinary  canons  of 
romance,  were  it  not  for  the  peculiar  behaviour  of  the 
lion,  who  proved  himself  indeed  a  "  gentle  Beast." 

Guy  tourned  his  horse  and  rode  agayne, 

The  Lyon  him  followed,  and  was  full  fayne  ; 

Before  his  horse  that  Lyon  ran, 

As  comely  as  any  man. 

And  for  fayne  played  before  Guyon, 

For  Guy  had  slayne  that  foule  Dragon . 

Guyes  horse  necke  the  Lyon  ran  to, 

Guy  weened  he  would  have  him  misdo, 

And  downe  he  sterte x  full  right 

With  the  Lyon  there  for  to  fight. 

And  when  he  was  start  adowne, 

As  still  as  a  Lamb  lay  the  Lyon, 

And  there  licked  he  Guyes  feete. 

And  when  Guy  saw  he  was  so  meeke, 

Guy  would  him  no  harme  do, 

But  let  him  ren  by  him  tho. 

And  everywhere  Guy  can  ride 

The  Lyon  ran  alway  by  his  side. 

*  *  *  >;:  * 

At  night  when  Guy  yede  his  chamber  to, 
The  Lyon  him  followed  him  fast  tho  ; 
On  nightes  when  Guy  slept  fast  perfay,2 
The  Lyon  before  his  bed  lay. 

The  emperor  now  thought  that  it  was  time  for  Guy  to 
enter  into  the  fulness  of  his  reward,  and  made  arrangements 
that  he  should  be  married,  on  the  morrow,  to  his  daughter 

1  Leaped.  2  Parfoi—\!  faith. 

20 


290  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

Loret,  with  whom,  as  dowry,  he  gave  half  his  kingdom  ; 
but  when 

The  Wedding  Ring  was  forth  brought, 
Guy  then  on  fayre  Phelis  thought, 

and  fainted.  When  he  came  to,  he  begged  that  the 
marriage  might  be  postponed  until  he  had  recovered  of 
his  illness  ;  then  went  home,  and  took  to  his  bed,  where  he 
lay  a  fortnight,  to  the  great  grief  of  the  lion,  who  would 
neither  eat  nor  drink.  After  the  fortnight,  Guy  got  up, 
and  went  to  the  emperor,  followed  by  the  lion,  who 
accompanied  them  to  dinner,  where  he  lay  at  his  master's 
feet.  He  afterwards  went  to  lie  down  in  an  arbour,  where 
he  was  espied  by  the  false  Morgradour,  who  mortally 
wounded  him  with  his  sword.  The  "  gentle  Beaste  "  had 
just  sufficient  strength  to  crawl  to  his  master's  chamber 
and  lick  his  hand,  when  he  expired.  Guy  was  mad,  for 
he  would  not  have  lost  his  pet  for  "  a  thousand  pound  of 
treasure,"  and  he  went  to  the  court,  questioning  all  he  met, 
if  they  knew  who  had  done  this  mean  deed.  No  one  knew, 
until  he  came  to  a  maiden  who  had  seen  Sir  Morgradour 
commit  the  foul  act.  No  sooner  did  Guy  hear  this  than 
he  sought  the  villain,  and,  after  a  very  brief  parley,  settled 
accounts  with  Sir  Morgradour,  by  cleaving  his  head  in  two. 
Having  thus  done,  Guy  sought  the  emperor,  and  ex- 
plained that  he  must  no  longer  stay  with  him,  for  the  loss 
of  the  German  emperor's  steward  would  cause  "  strained 
relations "  between  the  sovereigns  if  he  did  ;  to  avoid 


GUY  OF  WARWICK. 


291 


which,  he  proposed  to  start  at  once  for  his  own  country. 
The  emperor  tried  to  dissuade  him,  repeating  his  offers  of 
his  daughter's  hand,  and  the  half  of  his  kingdom  ;  but 

Syr  Emperour,  then  sayd  Guy, 

To  wedde  yet  I  am  not  ready  ; 

For  if  I  tooke  thy  Daughter,  certayne 

All  thy  men  would  have  disdayne 

That  thou  wouldst  make  an  Emperour 

Of  a  pore  Vavasour.1 

So  if  Guy  would  not  stay,  the  emperor  was  obliged  to  let 
him  go.   But,  if  his  desire  really  had  been  to  reach  England 


quickly,  destiny  was  against  him,  and  he  had  numerous 
adventures  before  he  did  so,  the  principal  of  which  was  his 
being  of  much  use  to,  and  making  a  comrade  of,  Sir  Terry, 
of  whom  the  Chronicle  has  before  spoken — but,  as  these 
adventures  have  no  real  bearing  on  the  story,  and  are 
peculiarly  involved  and  wearisome,  I  omit  them. 

Guy  tooke  leave,  I  understande, 
And  passed  fayre  into  Englande. 
1  Vassal. 


292  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

And  when  Guy  was  on  Englande  syde, 
Unto  Yorke  then  he  gan  ryde. 
King  Athelstone  there  he  founde, 
And  all  the  states  of  the  Lande. 

Athelstan  was  delighted  to  welcome  such  a  Paladin,  and 
was  asking  after  his  adventures  and  welfare,  when  a 
messenger  came  to  the  king,  informing  him  that  there  was 
a  foul  dragon  in  Northumberland,  who  had  ravaged 
twenty  miles  round  it,  a  fearsome  and  ugly  beast,  who  slew 
all  who  attempted  to  kill  it.  Athelstan  was  at  his  wit's 
end  how  to  deal  with  this  evil  creature,  until  Guy  solved 
the  difficulty,  by  proposing  that  he  should  go  against  the 
dragon,  accompanied  only  by  Sir  Heraude,  and  three  other 
knights.  Leave  was  granted  him,  and  they  set  off  at  once, 
soon  reaching  Northumberland,  where  no  time  was  lost  in 
finding  the  habitation  of  the  dragon.  On  viewing  the  huge 
saurian,  Guy  determined  to  undertake  the  adventure  by 
himself,  and,  having  dismissed  his  comrades,  he  prayed 
most  heartily  for  success.  The  fight  was  obstinate,  for  Sir 
Guy's  weapons  made  no  impression  on  the  animal's  hard 
scales,  and  it  was  only  by  ramming  his  sword  down  the 

beast's  throat, 

That  the  Dragon  began  to  yell, 
As  it  had  bene  a  fiende  of  hell ; 

and  finally  gave  up  the  ghost.  He  then  went  to  Lincoln, 
where  the  king  then  was,  and  presented  him  with  the 
dragon's  head ;  after  which  he  set  his  face  homeward. 
Arrived  at  Wallingford,  he  found  both  his  father  and 


GUY  OF  WARWICK.  293 

mother  dead,  and,  having  given  the  inheritance  he  re- 
ceived from  them  to  Sir  Heraude,  he  set  his  face  towards 
Warwick.  Here,  like  a  true  lover,  he  at  once  sought 
Phyllis,  telling  her  all  his  adventures,  and  how  he  had 
refused  all  women  for  her  sake.  She,  on  her  part,  declared 
that  she  never  loved  any  one  as  well  as  she  did  him  ; 
which  was  all  singularly  a  proposy  for  her  father  called  her 
to  him,  told  her  it  was  about  time  she  married,  and  bade 
her  choose  some  one.  She  named  Sir  Guy — a  choice 
which  met  with  Earl  Rohaunt's  hearty  approval,  and  they 
were  duly  married. 

But  quiet  domestic  felicity  soon  palled  upon  the  roving 
and  adventurous  Guy,  and  his  married  life  had  lasted  but 
forty  days,  when, 

After  it  fell  upon  a  day, 

As  Syr  Guy  came  from  play, 

Into  a  toure  he  went  on  hye, 

And  looked  about  him  farre  and  nye. 

Guy  stoode  and  bethought  him  tho 

How  he  had  done  many  a  man  wo, 

And  slayne  many  a  man  with  his  hande, 

Brent  and  destroyed  many  a  Lande  ; 

And  all  was  for  a  woman's  love, 

And  not  for  God's  sake  above  : 

and,  pondering  over  these  things,  he  determined  to  do 
penance  for  his  misspent  life,  in  going  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
Holy  Land.  Not  even  the  tender  expostulations  of  his 
newly  married  bride,  nor  the  thought  of  the  child  she 
should  bear,  made  his  determination  waver  for  an  instant. 


294  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

The  child,  when  born,  he  bade  her  put  under  the  care  of 
his  friend  Heraude  ;  and,  finding  that  nothing  could  turn  his 
will,  his  wretched  wife  gave  him  a  gold  ring,  so  that  when 
he  looked  upon  it  he  might  remember  her  :  and  he  took 
his  departure.  The  deserted  Phyllis,  when  she  fully  com- 
prehended the  situation,  "  drue  out  a  little  knyfe  "  where- 
with to  end  her  life  ;  but  she  thought  of  her  unborn  babe, 
and  refrained — taking  the  more  sensible  step  of  consulting 
her  father,  who  comforted  her  by  suggesting  that  Guy 
had  only  done  this  to  try  her,  and  that  he  would  soon 
return,  Sir  Heraude,  too,  disguised  as  a  palmer,  went  in 
quest  of  him  ;  but,  although  he  wandered  all  over  Europe, 
yet  he  heard  no  tidings  of  him,  and  in  due  course  Phyllis 
became  a  mother,  and  her  son  was  christened  Raynburne. 

Guy,  in  his  travels,  soon  met  with  an  adventure,  cham- 
pioned the  cause  of  a  Sir  Tryamoure,  whose  son  Fabour  had 
had  the  bad  luck  to  checkmate,  at  chess,  the  son  of  the 
Soudan,  who  lost  his  temper,  and  hit  Fabour  over  the  head 
with  the  board — a  compliment  which  Fabour  returned  with 
interest,  killing  the  Soudan's  son  with  the  chess-board. 
Guy's  adversary  was,  as  usual,  a  giant,  but  he  met  at  Guy's 
hands  the  usual  fate  of  giants,  and  was  killed.  He  next 
met  his  old  friend  Sir  Terry,  who  was  in  great  tribulation  ; 
but  Guy  effectually  succoured  him,  and,  at  length,  returned 
to  England. 

Things  had  not  gone  smoothly  at  home  whilst  he  was 
away.  His  son  Raynburne  was  brought  up  by  Phyllis 


GUY  OF  WARWICK.  295 

until  he  was  four  years  old,  when  she,  as  her  husband 
wished,  handed  him  over  to  Sir  Heraude  for  tuition.  But 
whilst  in  his  care,  a  great  mishap  fell  upon  the  child. 

So  on  a  day,  I  understande, 

Marchauntes  came  into  Englande, 

Into  London  out  of  Russye, 

With  Englishmen  to  sell  and  buy  ; 

They  gave  King  Athelstone  sylver  and  golde, 

To  buy  and  sell  where  they  would. 

So  on  a  day,  withouten  lye, 

The  Sarasyns  this  chylde  gan  espye, 

Guyes  sonne  fayre  Raynburne, 

And  stale  him  away  with  treason. 

And  then  they  sailed  away,  until  they  came  unto  the  land 
of  a  king  named  Aragus,  to  whom  they  made  the  boy  a 
present ;  and  Aragus  grew  very  fond  of  him,  and  had  the 
lad  taught  all  martial  exercises  ;  'made  him  in  the  course  of 
years  a  knight  and  his  chamberlain,  gave  him  fine  armour 
and  good  steeds — presents  for  which  he  evinced  his 
gratitude  by  overthrowing  all  comers  in  the  tourneys. 

Such  was  the  state  of  Sir  Guy's  domestic  affairs  on  his 
return  to  England  ;  and  public  matters  were  in  a  very  bad 
way,  for  Havelock  King  of  Denmark,  and  Conelock  King 
of  Norway,  had  landed,  and  burnt  every  town  until  they 
came  to  Winchester,  where  King  Athelstan  was,  and  they 
were  then  besieging  that  city,  but  they  had  promised  relief, 
if  Athelstan  would  find  any  one  to  fight  their  noted  but 
ill-favoured  giant,  Colbrond.  No  champion  could  be  found 
in  Winchester,  but,  in  answer  to  prayer,  the  king  had  a 


296  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

vision,  that  if  on  the  morrow  he  would  go  to  the  gate  of 
the  city,  he  should  find  a  pilgrim,  who  would  be  the 
champion.  This  the  king  did. 

And  as  the  Aungell  sayd  to  him, 

At  the  gate  he  founde  the  Pilgrime. 

He  led  him  unto  his  chamber  soone, 

And  fell  on  his  knees  before  him  anone  ; 

He  prayed  him  that  Battayle  to  doe. 

Redest '  thou  me  to  fight,  quod  Guy,  whereto 

Seest  thou  not  me  readily, 

Unneathes2  for  feeblenesse  alyve  am  I. 

Nevertheless,  sayd  Guy,  ryse  up,  Syr  King, 

Syth  thou  prayest  me  this  thing, 

For  thee  I  shall  the  battayle  do 

If  God  send  me  life  thereto. 

Well  glad  was  then  all  Englande, 

That  they  had  agayne  Colbronde 

A  man  lyke  for  to  fight, 

And  for  to  defende  their  Landes  right. 

The  fight  with  Colbrond  was  no  child's-play  ;  heavy 
strokes  made  deep  wounds,  and  the  combat  seemed  likely 
to  end  in  the  giant's  favour,  when  Guy's  sword  broke.  In 
vain  he  asked  Colbrond  to  lend  him  one  of  his  axes — a 
courtesy  which  he  did  not  see  his  way  to  grant ;  but,  by  his 
superior  agility,  Guy  possessed  himself  of  one,  and,  with 
one  sweeping  stroke,  Colbrond's  head  was  severed  from  his 
body. 

The  Danes,  nearly  mad  at  the  loss  of  their  champion, 
honourably  kept  their  pact,  and  retired  to  their  ships ; 
and  in  England  was  great  joy,  ringing  of  bells,  processions 

1  Dost  thou  counsel  me  to  fight  ?  2  Literally  unwieldy,  unfit. 


GUY  OF  WARWICK. 


297 


and  Te  Deums.  But  the  hero  of  the  day  would  join  in  no 
merriment,  he  put  on  his  palmer's  weeds  and  went  away, 
no  man  knowing  who  he  was,  save  only  the  king,  and  he 


pledged  his  royal  word  not  to  divulge  it  until  his  champion 
should  be  dead  and  buried.  In  this  humble  guise  he 
reached  Warwick,  and  came  to  his  own  gate,  where  he  sat 


*98  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

down  among  the  poor,  none  recognizing  him,  making  one 
of  the  twelve  poor  men  that  Phyllis  fed  every  day. 

The  Countesse  beheld  him  than, 
For  he  was  so  feeble  a  man. 
Of  all  her  meate  she  did  cheare,    . 
And  to  Syr  Guy  she  let  it  beare, 
And  of  the  best  wyne  that  she  had, 
To  Guy  she  sent  and  bad  him  be  glad. 
And,  for  she  thought  him  porest  of  all, 
She  bad  him  eate  every  day  in  the  hall. 

But  Guy  was  satisfied — he  had  seen  his  wife,  found  her 
full  of  works  of  mercy  and  charity  ;  but  she  knew  him  not, 
and  he  turned  his  steps  away  from  his  own  home  to  Arderne, 
where  he  found  a  deserted  hermitage,  which  was  to  be  his 
home  for  the  short  time  he  had  to  be  on  earth.  And  there 
he  lived  in  pious  contemplation,  serving  God  after  his  way, 
and  living  frugally  on  the  herbs  of  the  field,  until  one 
night  he  had  a  vision  of  an  angel — 

An  Aungell  came  from  God  Almighty, 
And  said  Guy  make  thee  ready  ; 
Within  this  toil  nights  thou  shalt  come 
To  Jesu  and  in  his  blisse  wone. 
Guy  thanked  Christ  and  called  mercy, 
So  glad  was  he  never  erst J  truely. 

On  the  seventh  day  he  called  his  page  to  him,  and  bade 
him  go  to  Warwick,  and  there  call  upon  the  Countess,  and 
show  her  a  gold  ring,  which  he  gave  the  page,  and  tell  her 
that  it  came  from  the  pilgrim  to  whom  she  sent  meat  to 
eat  in  her  own  hall — bidding  her  come  with  him  to  Arderne, 

1  Truly  was  he  never  so  glad  before. 


GUY  OF  WARWICK.  299 

a  service  for  which  she  would  well  requite  him.  The  page 
did  as  he  was  told,  and  Phyllis,  on  seeing  the  ring,  fainted 
thrice  ;  after  which  she  could  not  make  haste  enough  to 
join  her  husband,  but,  under  the  guidance  of  the  page,  she, 
accompanied  by  a  retinue  of  knights  and  squires,  rode  with 
all  speed  to  the  hermitage,  where  they  found  Sir  Guy  lying 
on  the  floor,  in  extremis. 

Then  set  she  up  a  shrieke  so  spert,1 

For  sorow  of  him  nye  brast  her  harte, 

•Guy  kest *  up  his  eyen  tho, 

The  soule  out  of  the  body  can  go. 

She  fell  on  him  in  that  hermytage, 

She  kist  his  mouth  and  his  vysage, 

Out  of  his  mouth  came  a  savour 

Also  sweate  as  any  flower. 

She  prayed  all  the  Bishops  of  the  country, 

At  her  Lordes  burying  for  to  be. 

At  Warwick  he  should  him  grave, 

But  no  man  might 3  him  thence  have, 

Then  bad  she  let  him  be. 

In  that  hermytage  buryed  was  he  ; 

A  richer  burying  then  she  made  one, 

King  ne  Duke  had  never  none  ; 

Many  a  Masse  for  him  was  sayde, 

Or  he  in  his  grave  was  layde. 

But  Phyllis  so  took  Sir  Guy's  death  to  heart,  that  she  at 
once  fell  ill  from  grief,  and,  fifteen  days  after  her  husband's 
decease,  she  died,  leaving  instructions  that  she  should  be 
buried  by  his  side,  which  was  accordingly  done. 

Now  be  they  both  with  God  Almighty 
Up  in  hye  blisse, 
Jesu  us  all  thereto  wish. 
1  Sudden.  2  Cast  up,  opened  his  eyes.  3  Move. 


300  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

To  complete  the  story,  it  now  remains  but  to  follow  the 
fortunes  of  Raynburne,  Guy's  son  ;  and  to  do  this,  it  is 
necessary  to  go  back  to  the  time  of  his  capture  by  the 
Saracens.  It  will  be  remembered  that  he  was,  at  that  time, 
under  the  tuition  of  Sir  Heraude,  who  was  furious  when 
he  discovered  the  loss  of  his  ward.  He  did  the  best  thing 
that  could  be  done  under  the  circumstances :  he  went  at 
once  in  pursuit,  but  was  unfortunately  wrecked  upon  the 
coast  of  Africa,  and,  after  a  fight  with  the  natives,  was 
overpowered  and  cast  into  a  dungeon,  where  he  lay  for 
many  years,  until  he  was  overheard  lamenting  his  sad  fate, 
he  who  had  been  the  boldest  baron  of  his  time.  This  was 
told  the  king  of  that  country,  who  was  at  that  time  at  war 
with  Aragus,  who  had  protected  Raynburne,  and,  indeed, 
this  latter  was  at  the  head  of  his  army,  performing  prodigies 
of  valour.  Feeling  the  need  of  every  brave  arm,  he  had 
him  taken  out  of  prison,  and  well  bathed  and  fed,  and  was 
overjoyed  when  he  heard  that  his  captive  was  the  redoubt- 
able Sir  Heraude,  companion  in  arms  with  the  invincible 
Sir  Guy :  and  he  offered  him  his  ransom,  and  a  hundred 
pounds  yearly,  if  he  would  fight  for  him  against  his  enemies. 
To  this  Sir  Heraude  consented,  and  his  health  and  strength 
were  soon  recruited  by  good  food. 

When  he  met  the  Saracens,  he  slaughtered  them  in  the 
good  old  style,  and  would  have  slain  Aragus,  had  he  not 
been  protected  by  Raynburne.  Of  course  Heraude  had  to 
fight  this  champion,  and  this  combat  was  so  protracted 


GUY  OF  WARWICK.  301 

sand  fierce,  that  each  gained  a  mutual  admiration  of  the 
i  other's  prowess  ;  so  that  when,  during  a  pause,  they  learned 
each  other's  names,  there  was  a  most  affecting  meeting 
between  them,  and,  by  their  efforts,  a  peace  was  concluded 
between  the  contending  parties.  They  then  set  their  faces 
towards  England,  which  they  reached  after  many  adven- 
tures. 

Then  passed  they,  I  understande, 
The  sea  and  came  into  Englande  ; 
To  London  that  they  came  anone, 
And  there  they  found  King  Athelstone. 
Of  Heraudes  comming  glad  was  he, 
And  great  joy  he  made  them  all  three.1 
The  King  yeelded  up  Syr  Raynburn 
His  Fathers  Landes,  tower  and  towne, 
And  there  were  they  fower  dayes  or  five, 
And  after  went  to  Warwick  blive.2 
Men  of  the  countrey,  old  and  yong, 
Were  glad  ynough  of  their  coming  ; 
Olde  and  yong,  echeman  of  his  age, 
Came  and  did  Raynburne  homage. 

1  The  third  was  Aslake,  a  son  of  Sir  Heraude. 
a  Quickly. 


IRobert  tbe 


'HIS   Romance  was  early  printed  in  France,  for  it 
was  published  at  Lyons  by  P.  Mareschall  in  1496  ; 
another  edition   was  issued  by   Nic.   de  la   Barre, 
ris  1497  ;  and  we,  too,  have  very  early  English  versions 
>f  the  tale,  in  two  editions,  but  slightly  varying,  printed 
>y  Wynkyn   de   Worde  —  one   in   the    Public    Library   at 
Cambridge,  the  other  in  the  British  Museum,  from  which 
have  taken  my  story. 

The  opening  sentence  of  this  Romance  epitomizes  the 
,vhole  story.  "  C  Here  begynneth  the  lyfe  of  the  moast 
yschevoust  Robert  the  deyvyll  whiche  was  afterwarde 
:alled  the  servaunt  of  god."  For  of  all  incarnate  fiends, 
seems  to  have  been  one  of  the  worst,  and,  in  his  con- 
/ersion,  he  shone  as  a  bright  example  to  even  professed 
bietists. 

"  It  befel  in  tyme  past  there  was  a  duke  in  Normandye 

21 


306  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

whiche  was  called  Ouberte,  ye  whiche  duke  was  passynge 
ryche  of  goodes  and  also  vertuous  of  lyvynge,  and  loved 
and  dred  god  above  all  thynge  and  dyde  grete  almesse 
dedes,  and  exceded  all  other  in  ryghtwysnesse  and  justyce, 
and  moost  chevalrouse  in  dedes  of  armes  and  notable  actes 
doynge.  This  duke  held  open  hous  upon  a  crystmasse 
daye  in  a  towne  whiche  was  called  Naverne  upon  the  Seyne. 
To  the  whiche  courte  came  all  ye  lordes  and  noble  blode 
of  Normandy.  And  bycause  this  noble  duke  was  not 
maryed,  his  lordes,  nobles,  with  one  assente  besought  hym 
to  marye  and  take  a  wyfe,  to  th'  entente  that  his  lynage 
myght  be  multyplyed  thereby,  and  that  they  myght  have  a 
ryght  heyre  to  enherite  his  landes  after  his  dyceyse." 

In  a  most  complacent  manner,  he  replied  that  what  they 
said  must  be  right,  and  that,  perhaps,  they  would  kindly 
"  purvey  "  him  a  wife.  They  told  him  that  he  spoke  "  very 
wysely,  and  lyke  a  noble  prynce,"  and  one  of  them  said  he 
knew  the  very  lady  fitted  for  the  position,  the  daughter  of 
the  Duke  of  Burgundy.  This  settled  the  matter — "  This 
lady  was  demaunded  of  her  fader,  the  duke,  of  Bourgone, 
which  gave  hym  her  wyllyngly,"  and  the  marriage  was 
celebrated  with  all  the  usual  ceremonies  and  festivity. 

Years  rolled  on  (the  chronicler  says  eighteen),  and  to 
their  great  grief  their  union  was  not  blessed  with  any 
children — a  source  of  the  deepest  disappointment  to  them  ; 
and  they  were  always  lamenting  the  fact,  so  much  so  that 
they  came  to  the  conclusion  that  "  they  that  made  the 


ROBERT  THE  DEVYLL. 


3°7 


maryage  betwene  us  bothe  they  dyde  grete  synne."  Still, 
they  did  not  abandon  all  hope  of  offspring,  the  father 
praying  devoutly  for  a  son  and  heir  who  might  honour  and 
serve  the  Lord ;  but  his  wife  replied,  "  In  the  devyles  name 
be  it,  insomoche  as  god  hath  not  ye  power  that  I  conceyve, 
and  yf  I  be  conceyved  with  chylde,  I  gyve  it  to  ye  devyll 
body  and  soule." 


When  the  child,  thus  dedicated  to  the  foul  fiend,  was 
born,  "  they  were  gretly  abasshed  and  aferde  with  the 
merveylouse  noise  and  tokens  that  they  herde  and  se  in  ye 
byrth  of  the  sayd  Robert  the  devyll,  in  that  (when)  this 
chylde  was  borne,  the  skye  waxed  as  darke  as  though  it 
had  been  nyghte,  as  it  is  shewed  in  olde  cronycles  that  it 
thondreth  and  lyghtened  so  sore  that  men  thought  ye 
firmament  had  been  open  and  all  ye  worlde  sholde  have 


308  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

perysshed.  And  there  blewe  soo  moche  wynde  out  of  the 
iiij  quarters  of  the  worlde,  and  was  suche  storme  and 
tempest,  that  al  the  hous  trembled  so  sore  that  it  shoke  a 
grete  pece  of  it  to  ye  erth,  insomoche  that  all  they  that 
were  in  ye  hous  wened  that  ye  worlde  had  ben  at  an  ende, 
and  that  they  with  ye  hous  and  all  sholde  have  sonken  ;  but 
in  shorte  tyme  it  pleased  God  that  all  this  trouble  ceased, 
and  the  weder  clered  up,  and  ye  chylde  was  brought  to 
chyrche  to  be  crystned  whiche  was  named  Roberte," 

He  was  so  opposed  to  this  Christian  rite  that  he  never 
ceased  crying  and  howling  ;  and  he  was  obliged  to  be 
brought  up  by  hand,  and  fed  with  a  horn,  because  he  bit 
his  nurse's  breasts.  And  his  growth  was  also  phenomenal, 
for,  at  twelve  months  old,  he  was  as  big  as  a  child  of  three 
years.  "  And  the  elder  that  this  chyld  Robert  waxed, 
more  curster  ;  and  there  was  no  man  that  coud  rule  hym, 
and  whan  he  founde  or  coude  come  by  ony  chyldrene  he 
smote  and  bote  z  and  cast  stones  at  them,  and  brake  theyr 
armes  and  legges  and  neckes,  and  scratte  out  theyr  eyes 
out  of  theyr  hedes,  and  therein  was  all  his  delyte  and 
pleasure."  No  wonder,  then,  that  when  the  street  boys  saw 
him  "  they  durst  not  abyde  hym,  but  cryed  one  to  another 
here  cometh  the  wode  2  Robert  ;  and  other  many  cryed 
here  cometh  ye  cursed  madde  Robert,  and  some  cryed  here 
cometh  Robert  ye  devyll  ;  and  thus  cryenge  they  voyded  3 
all  the  streets,  for  they  durst  not  abyde  and  loke  hym  in  the 

1  Beat.  2  Mad.  3  Emptied. 


ROBERT  THE  DEVYLL.  309 

face.  And  forthwith  ye  chyldrene  that  knewe  hym  with 
one  assent  called  hym  Roberte  ye  devyll,  whyche  name 
he  kepte  durynge  his  lyfe,  and  shall  do  as  longe  as  the 
worlde  standeth." 

Vain  was  the  attempt  to  bring  this  young  demon  under 
scholastic  discipline  ;  for,  having  found  a  man  bold  enough 
to  become  his  schoolmaster,  the  pedagogue  would  fain 
chastise  him  for  some  fault,  but  Robert  "  gate  a  murderer 
or  bodkyn  and  thrast  his  mayster  in  the  bely  that  his  guttes 
fell  at  his  fete,  and  so  fell  downe  deed  to  ye  erth."  From 
this  time  none  could  be  found  to  undertake  his  education, 
but  all  were  glad  to  let  him  alone  and  go  his  own  ways,  a 
privilege  of  which  he  fully  availed  himself,  becoming  a 
terror  to  all  men,  and  causing  his  father  many  times  to 
wish  him  dead. 

When  he  was  eighteen  years  old,  his  mother  besought 
the  duke  to  knight  him,  so  that  he  might  have  some 
employment ;  and  he  consented,  telling  his  son  that  he  did 
so  in  order  that  he  might  forsake  his  "  vyces  and  moost 
hatfull  lyf,"  and  live  as  a  chivalrous  knight  should  do. 
Robert's  answer  was  typical  of  him.  "  I  shall  doo  your 
commaundement,  but  as  for  ye  ordre  of  knyghthode,  I  set 
nothynge  therby,  for  there  is  no  degre  shall  cause  me  (to) 
leve  my  condycyons  nor  change  my  lyfe  ;  for  I  am  not  in 
that  mynde  to  do  no  better  than  I  have  done  hitherto,  nor 
to  amende  for  no  man  lyvynge."  This  gracious  reception 
of  an  honour  was  followed  by  equally  bad  conduct  in 


3 1 o  ROMANCES  OF  CHI VALR  Y. 

church,  on  the  night  before  he  was  dubbed,  when,  according 
to  custom,  he  watched  his  armour  in  church :  "  theder 
cam  Robert  lyke  a  madman,  and  overthrowynge  al  them 
that  came  in  his  waye,  ferynge  nother  god  nor  ye  devyl, 
and  he  was  never  styll  of  all  ye  nyght." 

This  "  Mirror  of  Chivalry,"  at  his  first  tournament,  over- 
threw all  comers,  killing  and  wounding  them  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  king  stopped  the  tourney;  which  made 
Robert  mad,  and  he  went  about  smiting  those  he  had  killed, 
till  the  people  rose  with  one  accord  and  plainly  told  the 
duke  that  he  must  keep  his  son  under  some  control.  But 
this  hopeful  went  on  his  way,  committing  all  kinds  of 
deviltry,  murdering,  robbing  and  burning  abbeys,  churches, 
hermitages  and  farms,  until  there  were  none  left  for  him  to 
pillage.  "  These  wycked  dedes  of  Robert  came  to  ye  eres 
of  ye  good  duke,  and  al  they  that  were  thus  robbed  and 
rebuked,  came  to  complayne  of  the  grete  outrage  and 
suppression  done  by  Robert  and  styll  was  doynge  thorowe- 
out  all  the  countree.  One  sayd  my  lorde  youre  sone  hath 
forsed  my  wyfe,  an  other  sayd  he  hathe  ravyshed  my 
doughter,  the  other  sayd  he  hath  stolen  my  goodes  and 
robbed  my  hous,  and  other  sayd  he  hath  wounded  me  to 
death,  with  many  semblable *  offences." 

His  father  knew  not  how  to  answer  these  tales  of  outrage, 
and  sought  refuge  in  prayer — a  course  which  was  not 
immediately  efficacious  ;  till  one  of  his  knights  spoke  up 

1  Similar. 


ROBERT  THE  DE  VYLL.  3 1  i 

boldly,  and  told  the  duke  that  his  advice  was  that  Robert 
should  be  sent  for,  and  rebuked  before  all  the  nobles,  and 
commanded  to  alter  his  style  of  living  ;  and,  if  he  would 
not,  then  justice  should  be  done  upon  him  as  upon  a 
stranger.  This  advice  the  duke  thought  to  be  good,  and 
acted  upon  it,  sending  out  men  to  bring  his  son  to  his 
presence.  But  Robert  evilly  entreated  his  father's  messen- 


gers,  and  put  out  their  eyes,  mockingly  exclaiming,  "  Syrs, 
nowe  shall  ye  slepe  the  better  ;  go  now  home  to  my  fader, 
and  tell  hym  that  I  set  lytel  by  hym,  and  bycause  he  sendeth 
you  to  brynge  me  to  hym,  therefore  to  his  dyspyte  I  have 
put  out  your  eyen." 

The  poor  duke  mourned  over  his  maimed  servants,  but 
was,  as  usual,  powerless  to  suggest  a  remedy  ;  until  one  of 


3I2 


ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 


his  nobles  advised  his  weak-minded  lord  that  it  was  use- 
less to  think  that  Robert  would  come,  voluntarily,  to  be 
admonished  and  punished,  but,  as  it  was  necessary  for  the 
common  weal  that  it  should  be  done,  stronger  steps  should 
be  taken.  Then  the  duke,  willing  to  follow  the  counsel  of 
his  nobles,  sent  in  all  haste  to  all  ports,  cities,  and  towns, 
throughout  his  dominions,  commanding  all  sheriffs,  bailiffs, 


and  other  officers,  to  use  their  utmost  diligence  to  bring 
his  recalcitrant  son  before  him,  or  to  keep  him  and  all  his 
company  safely  in  prison.  When  Robert  heard  of  this 
proclamation,  "he  was  almoost  out  of  his  wyt  for  wode 
angre,  and  wheted  his  teeth  lyke  a  bore,  and  swore  a  grete 
othe,  sayenge  thus,  that  he  wolde  have  open  warre  agenst 
his  fader,  and  subdewe  and  spyll  all  his  lordshyppe." 


ROBERT  THE  DEVYLL.  313 

He  evidently  thought  that  his  father  was  in  earnest,  for 
he  built  himself  a  strong  castle  in  which  to  defend  himself, 
and  there  he  gathered  together  "  all  ye  moost  myschevouste 
and  falsest  theves  that  he  could  fynde  or  here  of  in  his 
faders  lande  ;  to  wete  morderers,  theves,  strete  robers, 
rebel les,  brenners  of  chyrches  and  houses,  forsers  of 
women,  robbers  of  churches,  and  the  moost  wyckeedest 
and  curseste  theves  that  were  under  the  sonne."  With 
this  goodly  company  he  solaced  himself  with  murdering 
merchants,  and  plundering  all  that  came  in  his  way,  even 
down  to  the  poor  pilgrims,  so  that  every  man  fled  from 
him,  like  sheep  from  a  wolf;  nay,  he  even,  in  one  of  his 
mad  fits,  killed  seven  holy  hermits,  "and  after  that  he 
hadde  done  this  myschevous  dede,  he  rode  out  of  ye  wode 
lykc  a  dcvvll  out  of  helle,  semynge  worse  thenne  wode, 
and  his  clothes  were  all  dyed  red  with  ye  blode  of  the 
people  that  he  had  murdred  and  slayne,  and  thus  arayed 
he  rode  over  the  felds,  and  clothes,  hands,  and  face,  all 
were  rede  of  the  blode  of  the  holy  heremytes,  whiche  he 
had  so  pyteously  murdred  in  the  wyldernesse." 

In  this  mad  guise  he  rode  recklessly,  until  he  came  to 
the  Castle  of  Darques,  where  a  shepherd  had  told  him  his 
mother  was  going  to  dine,  and  when  he  came  there  all 
men  ran  from  him,  shutting  themselves  in  their  houses  ; 
and,  seeing  himself  thus  universally  shunned,  he  fell 
a-thinking  as  to  why  he  was  leading  such  a  mischievous 
and  cursed  life.  In  this  unwonted  frame  of  mind  he  lighted 


3i4  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

from  off  his  horse,  and,  drawing  his  bloody  sword,  he  strode 
into  the  hall  where  his  mother  was.  She  was  sore  afraid, 
and  would  have  fled  from  him,  but  he  called  out  to  her  to 
stay,  for  pity's  sake,  until  he  had  spoken  to  her  ;  and  then 
he  questioned  her  whether  she  knew  of  any  reason,  or 
could  account  for  the  fact,  that  he  was  so  vicious,  for  he 
was  convinced  that  he  had  inherited  his  disposition  either 
from  her  or  his  father. 

When  the  duchess  heard  him  speak  thus,  she  fell  to, 
weeping  bitterly,  and  entreated  her  son  to  cut  her  head  off. 
But  even  Robert's  ill-regulated  mind  recoiled  from  such  a 
deed,  and  he  asked  :  "  O  !  dere  moder,  why  sholde  I  do  so 
that  so  moche  myschefe  have  done,  and  this  sholde  be  the 
worste  dede  that  ever  I  dyde."  Then  the  duchess  told  her 
son  how  she  had  given  him  over  to  the  devil,  adding,  "  O  ! 
sonne,  I  am  the  moost  unfortunate  woman  lyvynge,  and 
I  knowlege  that  it  is  all  my  faute  that  ye  be  soo  cursed 
and  wycked  a  liver."  On  hearing  this  sad  tale  Robert 
fainted  away,  and,  on  his  recovery,  fell  a-weeping,  vowing 
that  henceforth  he  would  do  no  more  harm,  but  only  good, 
and  would  amend  his  life,  and  do  penance  for  his  past  sins. 

Then,  taking  leave  of  his  mother,  he  sought  his  com- 
panions, whom  he  rebuked  for  their  vicious  lives,  and 
exhorted  them  to  change  their  way  of  life  and  repent, 
adding  that  he  himself  was  going  on  a  pilgrimage  to 
Rome.  His  band  did  not  believe  in  this  sudden  conversion 
of  their  leader,  and  mocked  him,  saying,  "  Now  Syrs,  take 


ROBERT  THE  DEVYLL.  315 

hede  ;  ye  fox  wyll  be  an  aunker,1  for  he  begynneth  to 
preche."  Once  more  Robert  urged  them  to  repentance, 
but  they  told  him  that  in  future  they  meant  to  do  more 
wickedness  than  in  the  past.  Finding  that  his  exhorta- 
tions produced  no  good  effect  on  the  reprobate  crew,  he 
adopted  a  highly  original  method  of  preventing  their  doing 
any  mischief ;  he  killed  them  all,  one  after  the  other,  and, 
locking  up  his  castle,  he  sent  the  key  to  his  father,  who 
restored,  as  far  as  possible,  to  the  poor  people  the  goods  of 
which  his  son  had  robbed  them. 

In  great  pain,  and  poverty,  Robert  performed  his 
pilgrimage  to  Rome,  where  he  found  the  Pope  officiating 
in  St.  Peter's  Cathedral.  Could  he  but  reach  the  Holy 
Father,  and  pour  his  tale  of  sin  into  his  ears,  then,  thought 
he,  there  might  be  hope  even  for  him  ;  so  he  pressed  hard 
to  get  to  the  Pope,  but  was  smitten  and  told  to  go  back. 
However,  the  more  he  was  rebuffed,  the  more  pertinacious 
he  was  in  his  resolve,  and  made  such  a  noise,  that  he 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  Pontiff,  who  had  pity  on  him, 
and  desired  the  people  to  let  him  alone.  The  Pope  asked 
him  his  business,  and  Robert  told  him  he  was  the  greatest 
sinner  in  the  world,  and  begged  the  Pope  to  hear  his  con- 
fession and  grant  him  absolution.  The  Holy  Father  asked 
his  name,  and  when  he  heard  that  his  penitent  was  no 
other  than  the  redoubtable  Robert  the  Devil,  he  said  he 
would  hear  his  confession,  on  condition  that  he  would 

1  Anchorite,  ankret  or  hermit. 


3i6 


ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 


promise  to  do  no  man  harm.  "  Robert  fell  on  his  knees 
with  grete  devocyon  and  repentaunce  of  his  synnes,  saynge, 
Holy  Fader,  nay,  as  longe  as  I  lyve  I  promyse  god  and  his 
blessyd  mother  I  wyll  never  hurte  crysten  creature." 

Then  the  Pope  heard  his  confession — which  was  of  such 
an  extraordinary  nature,  that  he  shrank  from  the  responsi- 

Itobert. 


bility  of  giving  him  absolution  ;  but  told  him  he  must  go 
to  his  own  confessor,  a  hermit  who  lived  three  miles  from 
the  city,  tell  him  who  had  sent  him,  and  he  would  hear 
the  confession  and  assoil  him.  So  the  next  morning 
Robert  paid  the  hermit  a  visit.  He  was  welcomed  by  the 
holy  man,  who  listened  to  his  confession  ;  but  he,  like  the 


ROBERT  THE  DEVYLL.  317 

Pope,  thought  it  so  extraordinary,  that  he  preferred  to  let 
the  night  go  over  before  he  pronounced  absolution  and 
set  him  his  penance. 

So  all  night  Robert  lay  in  the  little  chapel,  and  the 
hermit  prayed  fervently  for  guidance  as  to  this  singular 
case,  until  at  last  he  fell  asleep.  In  his  slumber,  an  angel 
appeared  unto  him,  and  told  him  that  it  was  God's  com- 
mand that  if  Robert  would  be  shriven  of  his  sins,  he  must 
counterfeit  the  ways  and  manners  of  a  fool,  and  pretend 
to  be  dumb,  and  that  he  must  eat  no  kind  of  meat  but 
what  he  could  take  from  the  dogs ;  and  this  life  he  must 
lead  until  God  should  show  him  that  his  sin  was  forgiven. 
At  daybreak  the  hermit  called  Robert  to  him,  and  told 
him  of  the  penance  which  had  been  imposed  upon  him  by 
the  Divine  will ;  and  Robert  accepted  it  thankfully,  if,  by 
so  doing,  he  could  only  get  rid  of  the  intolerable  load  of 
his  sins  :  and,  after  taking  leave  of  the  hermit,  he  went 
his  way. 

And  as  he  entered  Rome,  he  began  to  leap  and  run 
about  like  a  lunatic,  so  that  the  children  ran  after  him,  and 
pelted  him  with  mud  and  filth,  and  the  people,  at  their 
windows,  mocked  and  jeered  at  him.  At  length  he  came 
to  the  Emperor's  Court,  and,  finding  the  gate  open,  went 
boldly  into  the  hall,  where  he  began  curvetting  and 
prancing  about  in  such  a  manner,  as  to  attract  the 
emperor's  attention,  who,  thinking  it  a  pity  that  so  good- 
looking  a  young  man  should  be  out  of  his  mind,  ordered 


3i8  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

one  of  his  servants  to  give  him  some  meat ;  but  he  would 
have  none  of  it.  In  those  days  the  hounds  were  always 
participants  of  their  master's  meals  in  hall,  and  the 
emperor  having  thrown  a  bone  to  one  of  his  dogs,  Robert 
immediately  seized  it ;  but,  as  the  dog  would  not  let  go,  he 
sat  down  and  gnawed  at  one  end  of  the  bone,  whilst  the 
dog  gnawed  the  other. 

This  conduct  filled  the  emperor  and  his  guests  with 
astonishment,  and  seeing  the  poor  witless  fellow  was  really 
hungry,  they  cast  more  bones  to  the  dogs,  so  that  they 
might  have  the  amusement  afforded  by  the  struggle 
between  man  and  beast.  Where  the  dogs  quenched  their 
thirst,  so  did  he ;  and  when,  at  night,  one  went  to  lie  down 
under  the  stairs,  there  he  followed  and  lay  beside  it  ;  and 
when,  by  the  emperor's  orders,  a  bed  was  offered  him,  he 
refused  it,  and  lay  upon  the  damp  earth.  And  thus  he 
lived  for  seven  years,  eating,  drinking,  and  sleeping  with 
the  dogs. 

Now  the  emperor  had  a  fair  daughter,  who  was  dumb, 
with  whom  the  Seneschal  was  in  love,  and,  because  the 
emperor  refused  him  her  hand,  he  gathered  an  army  of 
Saracens  and  laid  siege  to  Rome ;  and,  although  the 
emperor  had  the  greatest  number  of  men,  yet  would  the 
Seneschal  have  got  the  advantage  had  it  not  been  for 
Robert.  For  whilst  the  forces  were  engaged,  he  was  by  a 
fountain  in  a  garden,  when  he  heard  "  a  voyce  oute  of 
Heven  sente  frome  our  Lorde,  saynge  in  this  manner : 


ROBERT  THE  DE  VYLL.  3 1 9 

Robert,  god  commandeth  you  by  me  that  ye  incontynent 
arme  you  with  this  harneys,  and  lyght  upon  this  horse  that 
god  hath  sente  you,  and  ride  in  all  the  hast  possyble  and 
rescue  th'  emperour  and  his  people."  There  was  no  mis- 
taking this  Divine  command — there  were  the  horse  and 
armour.  So  Robert  did  as  he  was  bid,  and  was  soon 
riding  to  the  battle-field,  but  he  had  been  watched  with 
wonder  by  the  dumb  princess.  The  day  ended  in  a  victory 
for  the  emperor,  for  "  whan  Robert  was  come  in  to  ye  hoost 
he  put  hym  in  the  moost  prese l  of  the  turkes,  and  faughte 
and  layde  on  eche  syde  on  these  cursed  houndes.  There  a 
man  myght  have  sene  arms,  legges,  hedes,  tomble  on  the 
grounde ;  he  smote  to  ye  grounde  both  horse  and  man  that 
never  rose  after ;  it  was  a  worlde  to  see  ye  murdre  that 
Robert  dyde  amonge  ye  dampned  dogges  the  sarasyns." 

The  victory  assured,  Robert  returned  to  his  fountain, 
unarmed,  and  both  arms  and  horse  vanished,  to  the 
extreme  astonishment  of  the  princess,  who  was  a  spectator 
of  the  strange  scene.  At  night  there  was  feasting,  and  the 
poor  fool  played  his  pranks  as  usual  in  the  hall ;  but  it  was 
noticed  that  he  had  a  cut  on  his  face,  which  was  attributed 
to  some  of  the  servants  having  ill-used  him.  Of  course  the 
talk  was  chiefly  on  the  champion  who  had  so  marvellously 
befriended  them,  and  who  had  so  mysteriously  disappeared ; 
and  at  each  mention  of  his  name  the  dumb  princess  pointed 
to  Robert,  and  made  signs  that  he  it  was  who  had  so 

1  Thickest  of  the  fight. 


32o  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

helped  them  :  but  this  was  so  inconceivable  that  the 
emperor  got  angry  at  the  suggestion,  and  the  princess 
wisely  left  off. 

The  Seneschal,  not  content  with  his  defeat,  gathered 
another  army,  but  was  overthrown  again  by  Robert's 
potent  aid.  He  again  disappeared,  observed  of  none  save 
the  princess.  Yet  a  third  time  the  Seneschal  besieged 
Rome,  this  time  with  a  greater  force  than  ever.  Robert's 
prowess  once  more  gained  them  the  victory ;  but  it  happened 
that  certain  of  the  emperor's  knights  were  determined  to 
penetrate  the  mystery  of  the  miraculous  champion  on  the 
white  horse,  and  waylaid  him  on  his  return.  As  he  refused 
to  answer  their  interrogations,  and  set  spurs  to  his  horse, 
one  of  the  knights  better  mounted  than  his  fellows  followed 
in  pursuit,  and,  wishing  to  kill  the  white  horse  in  order  to 
secure  the  strange  knight,  he  missed  the  horse  with  his 
spear,  but  ran.  it  into  Robert's  thigh,  where  it  broke  off; 
and  the  white  horse  and  its  rider  duly  reached  the  fountain 
in  the  garden,  where  the  steed,  as  usual,  disappeared. 

Robert  drew  out  the  spear-head,  and  hid  it  among  the 
stones  by  the  fountain,  bathed  his  wound,  and  dressed  it 
with  grease  and  moss — watched  all  the  time  by  the  princess, 
who  saw  that  he  was  comely  and  fair  to  look  upon,  and 
began  to  love  him.  Robert  went  into  hall  as  usual,  limping 
as  little  as  he  could,  but  enduring  agonies  of  pain.  By  and 
by  the  knight  who  had  wounded  him  returned,  told  his 
story,  and  expressed  his  sorrow  that  he  should  have  hurt  so 


ROBERT  THE  DEVYLL  321 

worthy  a  knight ;  and  the  emperor,  by  the  advice  of  his 
nobles,  issued  a  proclamation  that,  if  the  knight  on  a  white 
horse  would  come  to  court,  and  bring  with  him  the  spear- 
head with  which  he  was  wounded,  he  would  give  him  his 
daughter  in  marriage,  and  half  his  kingdom. 

The  Seneschal  heard  of  this  proclamation,  and  a  bright 
thought  struck  him  that  he  would  drive  a  spear  into  his 
thigh,  and  go  and  claim  the  reward.  This  he  did,  and, 
although  the  knight  was  present  who  had  wounded  Robert, 
and  knew  it  was  not  his  spear-head,  yet  he  spoke  not,  for 
fear  that  the  Seneschal  should  kill  him.  So  the  Seneschal 
was  awarded  the  prize.  As  for  the  lady,  when  she  heard 
her  fate,  "  she  raylled  and  raged  as  thoughe  she  hadde  ben 
wood  and  madde,  she  tare  her  here  from  her  heed,  and  all 
to  tare  her  clothes,  but  it  myght  nothynge  avayle  her,  for 
she  was  constrayned  and  must  be  arayed  like  a  bryde  and 
an  Emperour's  doughter  that  shold  be  maryed." 

Weeping  and  struggling,  she  was  led  to  the  altar,  but 
hardly  had  the  service  commenced,  when  her  fettered 
tongue  was  loosed,  and  she  began  to  tell  what  she  had 
seen  ;  when  the  Seneschal,  perceiving  that  his  chance  was 
for  ever  gone,  mounted  his  horse  and  fled  away.  She  not 
only  told  of  Robert  and  the  white  horse,  but  sent  for  the 
spear-head,  which  was  found  exactly  to  fit  the  shaft.  Now 
were  lords  sent  to  fetch  Robert,  "  whome  they  founde 
lyenge  amonge  dogges ;  they  folowed  hym  and  dyd  hym 
reverence,  but  Robert  answered  them  not."  The  hermit 

22 


322  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

who  had  been  warned  by  a  dream,  and  had  come  to  see 
to  the  rehabilitation  of  Robert,  recognized  him,  and  told 
him  that  God  had  forgiven  all  his  sins,  and  in  future 
he  should  be  called  no  longer  Robert  the  Devil,  but  Robert 
the  servant  of  God.  Then  Robert  fell  upon  his  knees,  and 
gave  laud  and  thanks  to  God  for  his  mercies  and  forgive- 
ness. The  emperor  would  have  given  him  his  daughter  in 
marriage,  but  this  the  hermit  would  not  suffer. 

But,  when  Robert  had  gone  but  a  little  way  from  Rome, 
God  commanded  him  to  return  and  marry  the  princess  ; 
which  he  did,  and,  after  the  usual  prolonged  festivities,  he 
led  his  bride  to  Rouen.  Here  he  found  his  father  dead, 
and,  consequently,  that  he  was  Duke  of  Normandy.  Soon 
afterwards,  he  received  a  message  from  the  Emperor  of 
Rome,  saying  he  was  again  besieged  by  the  Seneschal,  and 
begging  his  help.  He  at  once  went  to  his  assistance,  but 
found  the  emperor  had  been  killed  by  the  Seneschal.  He 
had  the  satisfaction  of  cleaving  the  latter's  head  to  the 
teeth,  thus  ending  his  vile  life.  This  done,  he  returned  to 
Rouen,  and  we  learn  that  "  Robert  lyved  long  in  vertue 
and  honoure  with  that  noble  ladye  his  wyfe,  and  he  was 
beloved  and  dradde  J  of  hyghe  and  lowe  degre,  for  he  dyde 
ryght  and  justyce,  as  well  over  the  ryche  as  over  the  poore 
kepynge  his  lande  in  rest  and  in  prase." 

1  Feared. 


befluwert)  a  me 

rpe  3eft  of  aman  fyaf  tbaa  called  ^ott)le* 

J0la5,anb  of  manpnwruapioua  tbpna?«anli 


Ibowleglas* 

HOWLEGLAS  is  one  of  the  oldest  jest-books  in  the 
English  language,  and  it  comes  from  a  German 
source,  the  popular  Eulenspiegel — literally  Owl 
and  Glass,  as  represented  in  the  next  illustration,  which  is 
taken  from  an  early  printed  French  edition.  Eulenspiegel 
was  in  existence  long  before  the  merry  tales  of  Skelton, 
or  Scoggin's  Jests,  and  its  stories,  like  theirs,  are  not  all 
reproducible  for  modern  readers.  The  book  from  which 
I  have  taken  this  "  Merye  Jest  "  is  very  rare,  there  being 
but  three  copies  known,  two  of  which  (unfortunately  both 
imperfect)  are  in  the  British  Museum,  and  the  other  is  in 
the  Bodleian  Library.  This  latter  was  reproduced  and 
privately  printed  by  Frederic  Ouvry,  Esq.,  F.S.A.,  in  1867. 
The  copies  in  the  British  Museum  were  "  |[  Imprynted  at 
London  in  Tamestrete  at  the  Vintre  on  the  Craned  wharfe 
by  Wyllyam  Copland,"  and,  in  the  catalogue,  are  approxi- 
mately dated  1528  and  1530;  but  this  is  probably  erroneous, 


326 


ROMANCES  OP  CHIVALRY. 


being  antedated,  most  likely,  by  some  five  and  twenty  or 
thirty  years. 

However,  this  does  not  detract  from  its  rarity,  and  I  now 
present  it  to  my  readers  as  a  popular  book  of  light  reading 
and  humour,  coeval  with  the  Romances. 


"  Yn  the  lande  of  Sassen,  in  the  vyllage  of  Ruelnige,  there 
dwelleth  a  man  that  was  named  Nicholas  Howleglas,  that 
had  a  wife  named  Mypeke,  that  lay  a  child  bed  in  the  same 
vyllage  :  and  that  chylde'was  brought  into  a  taverne  where 
the  father  was  with  his  gosseppes,  and  made  good  cheret. 


HOWLEGLAS.  327 

Whan  the  mydwife  had  wel  dronke,  she  took  ye  childe  to 
bere  it  home,  and  in  the  wai  was  a  little  bridg  over  a 
muddy  water.  And  as  the  mydwife  would  have  gone  over 
the  lytel  brydge,  she  fel  into  the  mudde  with  the  chylde, 
for  she  had  a  lytel  dronk  to  much  wyne,  for  had  not  helpe 
come  quickly,  they  had  both  been  drowned  in  ye  mudde. 
And  whan  she  came  home  with  the  childe,  they  made  a 
kettle  of  warm  water  to  be  made  redi,  and  there  they  washed 
ye  child  clen  of  the  mudde.  And  thus  was  Howleglas  thre 
tyms  in  one  dai  cristened,  once  at  ye  churche,  once  in  the 
mudde,  and  once  in  ye  warm  water." 

Of  course,  with  such  a  start  in  life,  he  could  not  but  turn 
out  something  uncommon,  and  during  his  childhood  he 
was  preternaturally  sharp  ;  but  he  was  more  than  that — he 
was  elvishly  mischievous,  so  that  he  became  notorious  for 
his  pranks,  and,  for  amusement,  he  was  very  fond  of  dancing 
on  the  tight-rope.  There  is  a  tale  told  of  him  of 

"  Howe  Howleglas  fell  from  the  rope  into  the  water, 

whereof  the  people  had  good  sporte. 
"  Upon  a  tyme  Howleglas  played  upon  ye  corde  that  was 
set  over  the  water,  where  he  made  good  sport,  but  at  the 
last  there  was  one  that  cut  the  rope,  so  fell  he  into  the 
water,  and  was  all  to  wette,  and  he  came  out  as  well  as  he 
might,  for  ye  lytle  spyte  he  thought  to  quyte  them  agayn. 
And  said  to  them,  come  agayne  -to  morowe,  and  I  will  doo 
many  more  wonders  upon  the  rope.  And  ye  next  dai  after 


328  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

came  Howleglas  and  daunced  upon  the  corde,  and  than  he 
sayde  to  the  yonge  folke,  ye  shall  see  what  news  I  can  doo. 
Gyve  me  every  body  your  ryghte  shoe  upon  the  rope  end. 
So  they  dyd,  and  the  olde  men  also.  And  whan  he  hadde 
daunced  a  whyle,  he  caste  them  their  shoen  upon  a  hepe, 
and  bad  them  take  their  shoen  eche  of  them  agayne. 
Than  ran  they  after  their  shoen,  and  for  haste  one  tumbled 
over  the  other,  and  than  they  began  to  ly  together  by  the 
eares,  and  smyte  with  their  fystes  so  hard  that  they  fell 
both  to  the  yearth.  One  said  weping,  this  is  my  shoe,  and 
the  other  laughed  and  cryd  that  is  my  shoe.  And  thus,  for 
their  shoen,  they  laye  together  by  the  eares.  Than  began 
Howleglas  to  laughe,  crying  seeke  your  shoen.  Yesterday 
ye  bathed  me,  and  he  lept  from  the  corde,  and  went  his 
way  to  his  mother,  and  durst  not  come  out  again  in  the 
space  of  a  moneth.  And  so  he  taried  with  his  mother, 
whereof  his  mother  was  glad,  but  she  knew  not  the  cause 
why  he  dyd  with  her,  nor  what  he  had  done." 

He  continued  to  grow  up  in  this  harum-scarum,  ne'er- 
do-well  sort  of  fashion,  until  we  hear 

"  How  Howleglas  was  hired  of  a  priest. 

"  As  Howleglas  ran  out  of  ye  castel  he  came  to  a  village 
that  was  called  Buddest,  in  the  land  of  Brounswike.  And 
then  came  a  priest  to  Howleglas,  and  hyred  hym,  but  he 
knew  him  not.  The  priest  sayd  to  hym,  that  he  should 
have  good  dayes  and  eate  and  drinke  the  same  meate  that 


HOWLEGLAS.  329 

he  himselfe  and  his  woman  dyd,  and  al  that  should  be 
done  with  half  the  labour  ;  and  than  sayd  Howleglas  that 
thereafter  would  he  do  his  diligence.  Then  dressed  the 
priestes  woman  t(w)o  chikins,  and  she  bad  Howlegas  turne 
(the  spit),  and  so  he  dyd,  and  he  loked  up  and  saw  that  she 
had  but  one  iye,  that  whan  the  chikyns  were  (cooked) 
enough,  then  he  brake  one  of  the  chikins  from  the  spit  and 
eate  it  without  any  bread,  and  when  it  was  dener  tyme, 
came  the  woman  unto  ye  kechin,  where  Howleglas  turned, 
and  thought  to  take  up  the  chikyns  ;  and  whan  she  was 
come,  she  founde  no  more  there  but  one  chikyn.  Than 
sayde  she  to  Howleglas,  where  is  the  other  chikyn  :  there 
were  two  chykins  ?  Than  answered  he  to  her,  lift  up  your 
iye,  and  than  shal  you  see  the  other  chiken.  Than  was 
the  woman  therewith  angry,  and  knew  well  that  Howleglas 
mocked  her,  and  than  she  ran  to  the  priest  and  told  him 
howe  she  had  dressed  ii  chykins,  and  whan  she  came  to 
take  them  up  shee  found  but  one,  and  than  he  mocked  me 
because  I  had  but  one  iye  :  than  went  the  priest  to  How- 
leglas  and  said,  whi  mocke  ye  my  woman  ;  there  was  ii 
chikyns.  Than  answerd  Howleglas  and  said  that  was 
truth.  I  have  said  to  the  woman  that  she  should  open  her 
eyen,  and  she  should  se  well  where  that  other  chekyn  was 
become.  Than  laughed  the  priest  and  sayd  she  cannot  se, 
she  hath  but  one  iye  :  than  sayd  Howleglas  to  the  priest, 
the  one  chykin  have  I  eaten,  for  ye  sayd  that  I  shold  eate 
and  drinke  as  well  as  you  and  your  woman,  and  the  one 


33o  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

I  eate  for  you,  and  the  other  I  eate  for  your  woman,  for  I 
was  afrayde  that  you  should  have  synned,  for  the  promise 
that  yc  promysed  me,  and  therefore  I  made  mesure. 

"  Than  sayd  the  priest,  I  care  not  for  the  chikens,  but  I 
wold  have  you  please  my  woman,  and  do  after  her.  Then 
sayd  Howleglas,  I  do  your  commaundement ;  and  that  ye 
woman  bad  him  do,  he  did  but  halfe,  for  she  bad  him 
fetch  a  boket  of  water,  and  he  went  and  brought  it  but 
halfe  full  of  water,  and  whan  he  shold  brynge  two  logges,  he 
brought  but  one,  and  when  he  should  geve  the  beastes  two 
botels  of  hay,  he  gave  them  but  one,  and  when  he  should 
fetch  a  pot  full  of  bere,  he  brought  it  halfe  full,  and  so  did 
he  of  many  other  things  mo.1  Than  complayned  she  to 
the  priest  of  Howleglas  again.  Than  sayd  ye  priest,  I  bad 
that  you  should  do  as  she  bad  you ;  and  Howleglas 
answered,  I  have  done  as  ye  bad  me,  for  ye  said  to  me 
that  I  should  do  al  thing  with  halfe  laboure.  And  your 
woman  would  fayne  se  with  both  iyes  ;  but  she  seeth  but 
with  one  iye,  and  so  do  I  half  ye  labour.  And  than  the 
priest  laughed:  and  than  said  ye  woman,  wyl  you  have  this 
ungracious  knave  ani  longer,  then  will  I  tarry  no  lenger 
with  you,  but  depart. 

"  Than  gave  the  priest  Howleglas  leve  to  depart  for  his 
woman's  sake;  but  whan  the  paryshe  clerke  was  dead  of  ye 
village,  than  sent  the  priest  for  Howleglas,  and  holpe  hyme 
so  muche  that  he  was  made  the  paryshe  clerke." 

1  More. 


HOWLEGLAS.  331 

How  he  behaved  himself  in  his  new  position  we  shall  see 
by  the  following. 

"And  than  in  the  meane  season  while  Howleglas  was 
paryshe  clarke,  at  Easter  they  should  play  the  resurrection 
of  our  Lord ;  and  for  because  that  the  men  wer  not  learned, 
nor  could  not  read,  ye  priest  took  his  leman,1  and  put  her 
in  the  grave  for  an  aungell,  and  this  seeing,  Howleglas  toke 
to  hym  ii  of  the  symplest  persons  that  were  in  the  towne, 
that  plaied  the  iii  maries,  and  the  parson  plaied  Christe, 
with  a  baner  in  his  hand  ;  than  saide  Howleglas  to  the 
symple  persons,  whan  the  aungel  asketh  you  whome  you 
seke,  you  may  saye,  the  parsones  leman  with  one  iye. 
Than  it  fortuned  that  the  tyme  was  come  that  thei  must 
playe,  and  the  angell  asked  them  whom  they  sought,  and 
then  said  they  as  Howleglas  had  shewed  and  lerned  them 
afore ;  and  than  answered  they,  we  seke  the  priest's  leman 
with  one  iye,  and  than  the  priest  might  heare  that  he  was 
mocked. 

"And  whan  the  priestes  leman  herd  that,  she  arose  out  of 
the  grave  and  would  have  smyten,  with  her  fist,  Howleglas 
upon  the  cheke,  but  she  missed  him,  and  smote  one  of  the 
simple  persons  that  played  one  of  the  thre  maries,  and  he 
gave  her  another,  and  than  toke  she  him  by  the  heare,  and 
that  seing  his  wyfe,  came  running  hastely  to  smite  the 
priest's  leman ;  and  then  the  priest  seeing  this,  caste  downe 
hys  baner,  and  went  to  helpe  his  woman,  so  that  the  one 

1  Love. 


332  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

gave  the  other  sore  strokes,  and  made  greate  noyse  in  the 
churche.  And  than  Howleglas  seyng  them  lyinge  to- 
gether by  the  eares  in  the  bodi  of  the  church,  went  his  way 
out  of  the  village,  and  came  no  more  there." 

"  How  Howleglas  made  hole  al  the  sicke  folke  that  were 
in  the  Hospitall,  where  the  spere  of  our  Lorde  is. 

"  Upon  a  tyme  Howleglas  came  to  Northeborough,  and 
he  set  upon  the  churche  dores  and  upon  ye  Guyld  hal,  and 
every  place  that  all  the  people  in  that  towne  myght  knowe 
that  he  was  a  great  maister  of  Phisicke  :  that  al  sicke  he 
could  make  hoi.  And  than  the  maister  of  the  spytle 
house,  where  the  spere  of  our  lord  is,  had  mani  sicke 
folkes  in  his  house.  Than  went  the  maister  of  the  hos- 
pytall  to  Howleglas,  and  asked  hym,  yf  he  could  helpe 
sicke  men,  or  lame  men,  and  make  them  hole ;  and  he 
would  reward  him  after  his  owne  pleasure. 

"  Then  answered  Howleglas  to  the  maister  of  the  hospitall, 
wyl  ye  geve  me  ,C,C*  golde  gyledens,1  and  I  shal  recover 
and  make  them  hole  of  all  the  sickness  and  deases,2  and 
will  have  no  money  tyll  all  the  sicke  persons  be  delivered 
out  of  the  hospital.  These  wordes  pleased  the  maister  of 
the  hospitall  veri  wel.  And  he  gave  hym  some  money  in 
his  hande. 

"  Upon  ye  morowe  after  came  Howleglas  to  the  hospital 
with  ii  men  after  hym,  and  than  he  asked  ye  sicke  folke, 

x  Guldens.  2  Diseases. 


HOWLEGLAS.  333 

one  after  the  other,  what  desease  they  had  ;  and  whan  he 
hadde  asked  them  all,  than  he  made  them  swere  upon  a 
booke  that  they  should  kepe  his  counsail  whatsoever  he 
said  to  them.  They  answered  that  they  would  :  than  saide 
Howleglas  to  them,  I  have  undertaken  to  make  you  all 
hole,  whiche  is  unpossible,  but  I  must  nedes  bren  one  of 
you  all  to  pouder  :  and  then  must  I  take  the  powder  of 
him,  and  geve  all  ye  others  to  drinke  thereof,  with  other 
medicines  that  I  shall  minister  therto.  And  he  that  is  the 
last,  whan  I  shal  cal  you  out  of  the  hospitall,  and  he 
cannot  go,  shal  be  he  that  shal  be  brenned.  For  on 
Wednesday  next  coming,  than  shall  I  come  before  the 
maister  of  the  hospitall,  and  than  shall  I  call,  and  he  that 
slepeth  longest  shall  pay  for  al. 

"  Than  prepared  every  one  of  ye  sicke  folke  their  crutches, 
and  gear,  that  they  wold  not  be  the  laste.  And  whan 
Howleglas  was  come  to  the  maisters  of  ye  hospitall,  than 
called  he  them,  and  than  they  ran  out  of  the  hospitall,  and 
some  of  them  had  not  bene  out  of  their  bed  in  *£»  yere 
before.  Than  whan  the  sicke  folke  were  out  of  the  hos- 
pital, then  asked  he  his  money,  and  than  the  maister  gave 
it  him,  and  than  he  departed. 

"  And  within  iii  daies  after  came  again  the  poore  men  to 
the  hospital,  and  complained  of  their  sicknes,  and  than  the 
maister  of  the  hospital  said  to  them,  how  cometh  this  to 
passe.  I  gave  ye  maister  of  phisik  a  great  summe  of 
money  to  make  you  hole.  Than  answered  the  poore  folke, 


334  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

he  hath  deceyved  you  and  us  bothe,  for  foure  dayes  past  he 
came  to  every  one  of  us,  and  sayd  to  us  that  he  should 
come  on  Wednisday  next  coming,  and  heale  us,  but  he 
sayd  he  must  nedes  first  bren  one  of  us,  and  sayd  that 
should  be  he  that,  when  he  shold  cal,  should  be  the  last  out 
of  hys  bed,  and  the  pouder  of  hym  shold  they  drinke,  and 
be  made  hole  therwith.  Than  knewe  the  maister  of  the 
hospitall  that  he  was  deceyved  and  begyled,  and  than  toke 
he  the  poor  folke  into  the  hospitall,  and  put  every  one  in 
their  bedde,  as  they  were  before,  but  he  dyd  all  agaynst 
his  wyll." 

Fraud  and  subtlety  were  the  breath  of  his  nostrils,  and 
he  lived  shiftily  and  by  his  wits,  as  the  annexed  example 
will  show. 

"  How  Howleglas  tooke  upon  him  to  be  a  painter.1 
"  Than  it  fortuned  that  Howleglas  myght  no  longer  tary 
in  the  land  of  Sassen  for  hys  knavishenesse  :  than  departed 
he  into  the  land  of  Hessen  to  Marchborough  to  the  earle, 
and  he  asked  Howleglas  what  occapacion  he  was  of  ? 
Then  answered  Howleglas,  worshipfull  lord  I  am  a  painter, 
my  cunning  doth  excell  al  other,  for  in  no  land  is  not  so 
cunning  as  I.  Then  answered  ye  erle,  have  you  here  any 
ensample  of  your  work  ?  Then  answered  Howleglas  to 
the  erle,  yes  my  lord.  Then  had  he  be(en)  in  Flaunders, 
and  brought  with  him  divers  ymages  that  pleased  the 

1  This  story  is  wanting  in  both  the  British  Museum  copies,  and  I  have 
therefore  taken  it  from  Mr.  Ouvry's  reprint. 


HOWLEGLAS.  335 

erle  wonderfull  well.  Then  sayd  the  earle  to  Howleglas, 
Master,  what  shal  I  geve  to  you  to  take  upon  you  to  paint 
upon  the  wal  in  my  hal,  al  the  lordes  and  knightes  of  my 
progeny,  from  the  fyrst  unto  ye  last  in  ye  goodlyest  and 
fayrest  manner  that  ye  can,  with  al  the  erles  of  Hessen 
and  their  ladies  with  them,  and  how  our  forfathers  were 
married  to  ladies  of  straunge  lands.  And  al  this  must  you 
cast  that  it  may  be  upon  the  walls  of  my  hall. 

"  Then  answered  Howleglas  to  the  earle,  worshipfull 
lorde,  if  it  please  you  that  you  wyll  have  all  thys  that  you 
have  rehersed  to  me  to  be  painted  so  costli  and  rychly  as 
you  speake  of,  then  would  it  cost,  onely  the  colours  that 
should  (be)long  thereto,  above  iii+C+  golde  geldens.  Then 
answered  the  earle  to  Howleglas  and  sayd  make  yt  well, 
and  in  the  best  maner,  that  you  and  we  twaine  shal  agree 
after  the  beste  maner.  And  also  I  shall  doo  you  a  greater 
pleasure  than  all  that  come  thereto.  And  then  toke 
Howleglas  the  woorke  upon  hym,  but  he  sayd  to  the  lorde, 
that  he  must  nedes  have  an  ,C>  gildens,  in  earnest  to  bi  the 
colours  that  belonged  thereto,  and  for  his  men's  wages. 
And  then  bad  the  earle  the  rent  maister  geve  to  Howle- 
glas an  <.C«.  geldens,  and  so  he  did. 

"  Then  went  Howleglas  and  gat  him  thre  felowes,  and 
then  came  he  again  to  the  earle  and  asked  him  a  bone 
before  he  began  to  worke  ;  and  ye  erle  graunted  him,  and 
then  he  did  aske  of  the  earle,  that  there  should  no  person 
be  so  hardy  to  come  into  the  hall  to  trouble  him  and  his 


336  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

workemen,  without  they  aske  hym  lycence.  And  the 
erle  granted  his  desire  :  and  than  went  Howleglas  into  the 
hal  with  his  servauntes,  and  whan  he  and  they  were  in  the 
hall,  Howleglas  set  a  paire  of  tables  x  before  them,  and  he 
bad  them  play,  but  he  made  them  before  to  sweare  that 
they  shoulde  not  bewraye  him  ;  and  the  felowes  had  good 
pastime,  wherewyth  they  were  wel  content,  and  glad  that 
they  might  have  meat,  drinke,  and  cloth,  and  doo  no  other 
thinge,  but  play  and  passe  the  time  in  that  maner.  And 
Howleglas  did  no  other  thinge,  but  hang  a  white  cloth 
before  ye  wall.  That  done,  he  came  and  plaied  with  hys 
servauntes.  In  the  meane  time  longed  the  earle  greatly  to 
see  his  worke,  if  it  was  so  goodly  as  the  copy  was,  and  to 
se  if  the  coloures  were  good,  and  so  he  departed  and  came 
to  Howleglas  and  said  :  Good  maister  painter,  I  pray  you 
let  me  go  with  you  to  se  your  worke.  Then  said  How- 
leglas to  the  lord,  worshipfull  lord,  before  that  you  see  mi 
worke,  I  must  shew  to  you  one  thinge.  He,  the  which  is 
not  borne  in  wedlocke,  may  not  see  my  painting.  Then 
sayd  the  erle,  that  wer  a  merveylous  thinge. 

"  And  then  went  he  with  Howleglas  into  the  hall,  and 
there  had  he  hanged  up  a  white  cloth  (over)  that  he  should 
have  painted.  And  he  had  in  his  hande  a  whit  rod,  and 
he  did  awaye  (with)  the  cloth  that  hanged  upon  ye  wal, 
and  pointed  upon  the  wall  with  his  whit  rode,  and  shewed 
the  erle  that  that  was  the  first  lord  of  ye  land  and  erle  of 

1  For  draughts  or  backgammon. 


HOWLEGLAS. 


337 


Hessen.  And  this  is  ye  erle  of  Rome,  he  had  a  wife  that 
they  called  lustine,  the  Duke's  doughter  of  Benem.  And 
after  that  he  was  made  Emperour.  And  of  ye  daughter  of 
him  came  Adulphus.  And  of  Adulphus  came  William 
the  swarte.1  And  this  William  had  one  Lewis,  so  forthe  to 
your  noble  grace.  And  I  know  well  that  there  is  no 
parson  livinge  that  can  deprove  my  workes,  so  cureously 
have  I  made,  and  with  faire  colours  ;  but  the  Lord  saw  no 
worke,  but  ye  plain  wal. 

"  Then  thought  he  in  his  minde,  am  I  a  bastard — I  see 
nothing  but  the  whit  wal.  And  for  because  that  he  would 
not  be  knowen  for  a  bastard,  he  said  to  Howleglas,  maister, 
your  woorke  pleaseth  me  merveylously  well,  but  my 
understandinge  is  very  small  therein.  And  with  that  he 
went  out  of  the  hall,  and  came  to  his  wife,  and  she  asked 
him  how  that  worke  did  please  him  ?  he  said  I  have 
shrewed  2  trust  in  him.  Than  said  the  erle,  I  like  it  well, 
shall  it  please  you  to  looke  theron,  and  she  graunted.  And 
then  she  desyred  Howleglas  that  she  might  see  his  worke, 
and  he  graunted  her,  and  then  sayd  unto  her  secretly,  as 
he  had  sayd  before  to  her  lorde,  and  showed  her  the  lordes 
upon  the  wal  with  the  white  rod  in  his  hande  ;  as  he  did 
to  the  lord,  and  there  stode  one  folishe  gentilwoman  with 
the  lady,  and  she  said,  that  she  saw  no  painting  on  the 
wall,  and  the  other  spake  not  one  worde.  And  then 
thought  Howleglas,  wyl  this  foole  tel  truthe :  then  must  I 

1  Swarthy,  or  dark.  2  Sure  faith. 

23 


338  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

needes  depart.  Then  hanged  he  up  the  white  cloth,  and 
so  departed  the  lady. 

"  And  when  she  was  come  to  her  lord,  he  asked  her  how 
she  lyketh  the  worke  she  sayd  ;  how  that  it  liketh  me,  it 
liketh  not  my  folish  gentlewoman,  and  she  sayd  that  some 
of  her  gentle  women  say  that  it  was  but  deceyte,  and  so 
thought  the  lord  ;  then  sayde  the  lord  to  Howleglas,  that 
he  should  make  redy  his  worke  that  he  and  his  lords 
might  se  it  tomorow,  that  he  might  know  which  of  them 
were  borne  in  wedlocke  and  which  were  not,  for  he  that  is 
not  borne  in  wedlocke,  al  his  land  is  forfet  to  me.  Then 
answered  Howleglas,  I  wyll  do  it  with  a  good  wyl.  Then 
went  he  to  the  rent  maister,  and  received  of  him  a  <t«.  gold 
gildens. 

"  And  when  he  had  received  the  mony,  he  sayde  to  his 
servaunts,  Now  must  we  all  departe,  and  gave  them  mony, 
of  the  which  they  were  contente,  and  so  departed.  Then, 
on  the  morow  came  the  earle  with  his  lordes  into  the  hall, 
and  they  asked  wher  the  maister  painter  was,  and  his 
company,  for  he  sayd  he  would  see  the  worke.  Then 
turned  he  up  the  cloth,  and  asked  them  if  they  sawe  any 
worke,  and  they  sayde  nay.  Then  sayd  the  erle,  we  be 
deceived.  He  sayd  we  have  sore  longed  to  se  Howleglas, 
and  nowe  he  hath  begyled  us,  but  it  maketh  no  great 
mater  for  the  mony.  But  let  us  banishe  him  from  our 
land  for  a  begiler  of  people,  and  so  they  did.  And  so 
departed  the  earle  with  hys  lordes." 


HOWLEGLAS.  339 

41  How  Howleglas  won  a  pece  of  clothe  of  a  man 
of  the  countrey. 

"  Howleglas  would  ever  fare  wel,  and  make  good  chere, 
but  he  woulde  not  worke.  Then  on  a  time  came  he  to 
Olsem,  to  a  goodly  company  of  men  of  that  countrey. 
And  as  he  walked,  he  espyed  one  man  alone  with  a  grene 
cloth  on  hys  arme  ;  then  ymagyned  he  in  his  minde,  how 
that  he  might  get  ye  clothe.  So  he  came  to  him,  and  he 
asked  him  wher  he  was  dwellyng.  And  then  the  husband- 
man tolde  him  ;  and  than  departed  Howleglas  from  him 
and  continentli x  he  met  with  a  Shottish 2  priest,  and 
another  knave,  and  he  sayd  to  them,  I  desyre  you  to  helpe 
me,  and  I  shall  geve  you  for  your  labour,  and  they  sayd 
they  wold.  Than  said  Howleglas,  whan  I  call  you  to 
recorde  to  know  what  colour  yonder  cloth  is  ye  shall  say 
blewe.  I  wil  go  before,  and  come  [ye]  after.  Than  went 
he  to  the  husbandman,  and  he  asked  him  how  he  sold  his 
blewe  cloth.  Than  sayde  the  husbandman,  that  it  was  grene 
and  not  blewe.  I  hold  *r£*  gildens  against  thy  cloth,  that 
it  is  blewe  :  than  saide  the  husbandman  I  holde  you.  It  is 
done  sayde  Howleglas,  and  the  first  man  that  comes  hereby, 
shall  be  the  judge  thereto  :  agreed,  sayd  the  husbandman. 

"  Than  made  Howleglas  a  sygne  to  the  men,  that  he  had 
hired,  and  they  came.  Than  sayde  the  husbandman,  we 
two  strive  what  colour  this  cloth  is,  I  pray  you  breke  our 
stryfe.  Than  the  felow  saide  it  is  fayre  blew  cloth ;  than 

1  Soon.  a  Scotch. 


340  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

said  ye  husbandman,  man,  ye  be  too  false  for  me  to  medle 
with,  for  it  is  made  betwyxt  you  two  to  deceyve  me.    Than 
sayde  Howleglas,  cause  that  ye  saye  we  be  agree,  let  hym 
go  ;  here  cometh  a   priest,  wil  ye  be  contented  what  he 
sayeth  :    and   the  man   of  the  countre  sayde  yes.     Than 
came  the  priest  by  :  than  sayd  Howleglas,  I  praye  you  to 
tel  us  what  colour  this  cloth  is  ?     The  priest  sayd,  ye  se 
wel  ynough,  what  nede  you  to  aske  me.     The  husbandman 
sayd,  I  know  the  colour  of  the  cloth  wel  ynough,  but  these 
two  men  say  it  is  an  other  colour,  and  therefore  we  stryve. 
Than  sayde   the   priest,   what   have    I    to   do   with   your 
stryving  ?     Than  sayde  the  husbandman,  I  pray  you  syr, 
departe  us  of  our  stryving.     Than  sayde  the  priest,  I  can 
se  no  other,  but  that  it  is  a  fayre  blewe.     And  than  sayd 
the  husbandman,  and  ye  were  not  a  priest,  in  fayth  ye  did 
lye,  for  ye  be  thre  false  men  :  but  sythen  ye  be  a  priest  I 
must  beleve  you.     And  then  gave  he  Howleglas  the  cloth, 
and  wente   his   waye.     Than  did    Howleglas   with   his  ii 
felowes   clothe   themselves   with   the   husbandman's  cloth 
againste  the  wynter.     But  the  good  poore  man  prayed  to 
God  many  a  tyme  and  ofte,   that   the   devill  might  take 
them  al  thre,  for  the  poore  man  was  then  worse  all  the 
dayes  of  hys  lyfe  after  that  great  losse." 

"  Howe  Howleglas  gave  *£«.  gyldens  to  «£iu  poore 

men  for  christes  love. 
"On  a  time  came  Howleglas •  to  Hanover,  where  he  did 


HOWLEGLAS.  341 

many  vertuous  thinges.  On  a  time  rode  Howleglas 
without  the  towne,  and  as  he  rode  he  met  with  JHU  blinde 
men  to  whom  he  saide,  whether  wil  ye  go  ?  The  blinde 
men  hering  that  he  was  on  horseback  they  put  off  their 
cappes,  for  they  wende  *  that  he  had  beare  a  great  gentle- 
man, and  saide,  we  have  bene  at  a  doole  2  of  a  ryche  man, 
that  died  yesterdai  in  the  town.  Than  sayd  Howleglas,  I 
take  gret  thought  for  you,  how  you  shall  do  this  winter, 
for  methink  you  shall  frese  to  death,  before  the  winter  be 
done.  And  than  he  sayde,  holde,  here  is  +%%.  gildens,  and 
returne  agayne  all  you  to  the  place  where  that  I  was 
lodged,  and  he  named  his  host,  and  he  bad  them  make 
good  chere  til  winter  were  done. 

"  And  than  they  thanked  hym,  for  they  thought  that 
he  had  geven  them  moni,  but  he  did  not.  And  then 
departed  they  to  the  place  whither  he  sent  them,  and 
they  thought  that  some  of  the  company  had  the  mony. 
And  whan  they  came  to  the  Inne,  they  said  to  the 
hostise  that,  by  the  way  as  they  went,  thei  met  with 
a  good  man  that  gave  them  j;;r<.  gildens  for  god's 
sake,  and  he  bad  us  come  hither,  and  make  good  chere 
therefore,  for  he  sayd  that  he  had  bene  lodged  here,  and 
for  his  sake  we  shold  have  good  chere.  Whan  the  hoste 
herde  that  they  had  mony,  he  toke  them  in,  and  made 
them  good  chere. 

"And  whan  that  their  4£;c,  gildens  were  spent,  than  said 

1  Weened,  thought  or  imagined.      ,    .  2  Mourning. 


342  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

the  hoste  to  them.  Nowe  will  ye  reken,  good  brethren, 
for  now  the  *££*  gildens  be  spent.  The  blynd  men  sayd, 
we  be  contented  to  pay  you,  and  than  spake  one  of  the 
blinde  men,  and  sayd,  He  that  hath  twenty  gildens  pay  our 
hoste.  And  than  said  the  one  to  the  other,  I  have  not  the 
«•££«•  gyldens  ;  Nor  I  have  not  the  twenty  gyldens.  And 
than  some  sate  and  clawed  their  head,  and  some  clawed 
their  arme.  And  than  they  knew  that  they  were  deceyved. 
Than  thought  the  hoste  in  hys  mynde,  what  shall  I  do 
with  them  ?  Shall  I  let  them  go  that  they  spend  me  no 
more  mony  ?  Nay,  not  so.  Than  shut  he  the  blind  men 
in  the  stable,  and  brought  to  them  hay  and  strawe. 

And  whan  that  Howleglas  thought  that  al  the  mony 
was  spent,  than  came  he  ryding  in  to  the  same  Inne  where 
the  blynde  men  were,  and  he  had  chaunged  hys  clothyng 
that  they  should  not  knowe  hym,  and  so  entred  into  the 
Inne  where  the  blynd  men  were,  and  he  led  his  horse  into 
the  stable  wher  the  pore  men  were.  And  (when)  he  had 
set  up  his  horse,  he  came  to  his  hoste,  and  asked  his  hoste 
wherfore  he  had  kept  the  blynd  men  in  the  stable,  so  fast 
shut  in.  And  he  asked  him  what  harme  they  had  done  to 
hym.  Than  sayd  the  hoste,  I  would  that  they  were 
together  in  the  water  so  that  I  had  my  costes  payde  me, 
and  than  he  tolde  him  all  the  matter.  And  than  sayde 
Howleglas.  And  you  had  a  borowe,1  would  you  lette 
them  goo.  And  the  hoste  sayde  yes,  with  a  good  wyll. 

1  If  you  had  a  surety. 


HO  WLEGLAS.  343 

Than  sayde  Howleglas,  I  wyll  go  see  if  I  can  finde  any 
borowe  for  them. 

"Then  went  he  to  the  Curate  of  the  churche  and  sayde, 
Maister  parson,  I  have  an  hoste  that  this  night  was  taken 
with  the  fencle ; *  I  desyre  you  for  to  helpe  hym.  The 
Curate  saide,  with  a  good  wyll,  but  you  must  tary  two  or 
thre  daies  for  it  maye  not  be  done  in  haste.  Well,  sayde 
Howleglas,  that  is  well  saide,  but  I  will  go  fetche  his  wife, 
that  she  may  here  what  you  say.  And  ye  priest  said  I 
shall  tel  to  her  the  same  that  I  told  to  you  without  fayle. 
And  than  went  Howleglas  home  to  his  hoste,  and  he  tolde 
hym  that  he  had  founde  a  borow,  and  that  it  was  the 
parsone  of  the  churche,  and  let  your  wyfe  go  with  me,  and 
she  shall  here  him  speke  ye  same  that  he  hath  sayde  to  me, 
and  than  was  his  hoste  glad  and  he  sende  his  wife  with 
Howleglas,  to  the  Curate.  And  whan  they  were  come  to 
the  Curate,  Howleglas  said  to  him,  Maister  parsone  here  is 
the  wyfe  of  the  man,  that  I  spake  of  to  you,  now  tell  her 
the  same  that  you  have  said  to  me.  And  the  curate  sayd, 
with  a  good  wil :  than  said  he  to  the  woman,  tary  a  daye  or 
two,  and  I  shall  helpe  your  husbande  well.  And  than  was 
the  woman  glad,  and  returned  home  agayne  withe  How- 
leglas, and  whan  she  came  home,  she  told  her  husband 
what  the  curate  sayd,  whereof  the  hoste  was  glad,  and  he 
went  unto  the  stable,  and  let  the  blynde  men  lose  and 
they  went  their  way. 

1  Possessed  by  the  devil. 


344  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

"  And  than  Howleglas  reckned  with  his  hoste,  and  so 
departed  from  thence  ;  and  whan  the  thyrd  day  came,  than 
went  the  woman  to  the  priest,  and  she  asked  him  twente 
gildens  that  the  blynde  men  had  spende.  The  curate 
asked  her,  hath  your  husbande  that  ye  told  to  me  ? x  And 
the  woman  said  no.  Than  said  the  Curate,  that  is  the  false 
devil  that  wold  have  the  mony.  Than  saide  she,  what 
false  devill  menest  thou  ?  Geve  me  mi  moni  for  my  costes. 
Than  saide  the  curate  to  the  woman,  it  was  tolde  me  that 
your  husbande  was  taken  with  ye  false  devyll ;  brynge  him 
hether,  and  I  shall  helpe  hym  thereof  by  the  grace  of  god. 
Than  sayd  the  woman  to  ye  priest,  suche  begylers  fynde 
I  many.  Now  you  should  pay  me  for  my  costes  ;  you 
bring  to  me  a  back  rekening,  and  you  say  my  husband  is 
taken  with  the  devyll,  and  that  you  shall  know  shortly. 
And  than  she  ran  to  her  husbande,  and  tolde  hym  how  the 
priest  said  to  her. 

"  And  whan  the  hoste  heard  those  wordes,  he  was  angry, 
and  toke  the  spit  with  the  rost  that  lai  at  the  fyre,  and  ran 
to  the  priestes  charribre;  And  whan  the  curate  spyed  him 
he  was  afrayde,  and  called  the  neighbours  to  help  him,  and 
fie  made  a  signe  df:the  noly  crosse  before  him,  and  he 
cryed  for  help  to  take  that  man  that  was  so  beset  :with  the 
devil.  Than  sayd  the  tioste,  thou  priest  pay  me  my  mony, 
and  the  priest  gave  hynv  no  aunswere.  Than 'would  the 
hoste  have  run  thorow  him  with  the  hote  spyt,  but  .the 

1  He  meant,  is  he  possessed  with  the  devil  ? 


HOWLEGLAS.  345 

neyghbours  went  betwene  them  and  departed  them,  and 
they  helde  the  hoste  stil  with  gret  payne  from  maister 
parsone.  But  as  long  as  the  hoste  lived,  he  asked  his 
mony  of  the  priest,  for  the  costes  of  the  blynde  men,  but 
the  priest  aunswered  to  him  that  he  ought  him  nought,  and 
nought  he  would  pay  him,  but  sayd,  and  you  be  taken  with 
a  devyll,  I  shall  helpe  you  therof.  But  never  after,  loved 
one  the  other." 


"  How  Howleglas  scared  his  hoste  with 
a  dead  woulfe. 

"  In  Ysetleven  dwelled  an  Inneholder  that  was  very 
spyteful  and  mockying,  and  he  praysed  greatly  his  bold- 
nesse.  Upon  a  tyme,  it  befell  in  the  winter  season,  when 
there  had  been  a  great  snow,  Howleglas  came  riding  with 
other  thre  merchauntes  from  Sasson  to  Ysetleven,  and  it 
was  very  late  or  they  came  there ;  and  when  they  were 
come,  they  entred  into  the  Inne  that  the  man  kept. 
Than  sayde  their  hoste  angerly,  wher  have  you  ben  so  late, 
it  is  no  time  now  to  take  your  Inne.  Than  they  aunswered, 
Be  ye  not  angry,  for  we  have  been  hounted  with  a  woulfe 
in  the  snow,  we  could  not  scape  till  nowe.  Than  the  hoste 
mocked  them  because  they  iiii  were  huntying  pf  one 
woulf,  and  said,  if  there  came  x  woulfes  to  me  in  ye  field, 
I  wold  have  slayne  them  everichone,  and  mocked  ye 
marchauntes  tyl  they  went  to  bed.  And  Howleglas  sate 


346  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

by  the  fyre  and  herde  a!  together.  Than  should  they  go 
to  bed. 

"  And  it  fortuned  that  Howleglas  and  the  marchaunts 
should  lye  in  one  chambre.  And  when  they  ware  in  the 
chambre  together,  they  toke  counsayl  together  how  they 
myght  stop  their  hoste  of  his  mocking.  Then  sayde 
Howleglas,  our  hoste  is  full  of  mocking;  let  me  alone, 
I  shall  pay  him  well  ynough  that  he  shall  not  mocke  us  no 
more.  Than  promysed  the  marchauntes  to  Howleglas  to 
pay  all  his  costes,  and  geve  hym  more  monye  for  his 
labour.  Than  sayde  Howleglas,  do  your  Journey  and 
busynesse  of  your  marchaundise,  and  whan  ye  have  (done) 
it,  come  agayne  and  lodge  at  this  Inne,  and  ye  shal  fynde 
me  here,  and  then  we  shal  make  our  host  that  he  shal 
mocke  no  more.  And  than  arose  ye  marchauntes  in  the 
morning,  and  payed  hym  for  their  costes,  and  Howleglas 
also.  Than  they  took  their  horses  and  departed  from 
thence.  And  whan  they  were  paste  a  lytle,  he  cryed  to 
the  marchauntes,  take  hede  that  the  woulfe  byte  you  not, 
in  mockage.  They  thanked  their  hoste  because  he  gave 
them  warning  before. 

"  And,  as  they  rode,  Howleglas  found  a  woulfe  that  was 
frozen  to  ye  deth,  and  that  he  toke  up,  and  put  in  a  bagge, 
and  layd  it  before  him,  and  than  they  retourned  agayne  to 
Ysetleven,  to  that  Inne  wrier  they  were  lodged  before. 
And  he  kept  the  woulf  so  close  that  no  man  knew 
therof.  And  whan  the  nyght  was  come  and  that  they  sat 


HOWLEGLAS.  347 

all  at  supper,  than  the  hoste  began  to  laugh  at  them,  and 
he  resoned  against  their  hardines  and  against  the  woulfe. 
Than  sayd  they,  so  it  fortuned  at  that  time,  you  said  that 
you  would  slay  x  woulfes,  but  first  I  wold  se  you  kyl  one. 
And  then  said  ye  hoste  that  should  I  do  alone.  And  thus 
they  rested  tyl  they  went  to  bedde. 

"  And  Howleglas  helde  his  peace,  tyll  that  he  and  the 
marchauntes  went  above,  all  together  in  the  chambre.  And 
than  sayd  Howleglas  to  ye  marchauntes,  Let  me  nowe 
begyn  to  worke,  and  wake  you  a  lytle  whyle.  And  than 
when  the  hoste  and  all  his  folke  were  a  slepe,  than  wente 
he  pryvely  into  the  chambre,  and  he  fetched  the  ded  woulf 
that  was  styffe  frosen,  and  dressed  him  with  stickes,  and  put 
two  chyldrens  shoen  in  his  mouth,  and  made  him  stand  as 
though  he  had  ben  a  live.  And  then  left  he  ye  woulf 
standing  in  the  hal,  and  he  came  againe  into  the  chambre 
to  ye  marchauntes,  and  when  he  was  above,  he  and  ye 
marchauntes  called  their  hoste.  And  their  hoste  asked 
them  what  they  would  have.  Than  aunswered  they  to 
him,  that  they  would  have  some  drynke,  for  they  had  so 
gret  thyrste  that  they  must  nedes  drynke.  Let  your  mayd 
or  man  brynge  us  some,  and  we  wyll  paye  for  it  tomorowe. 
Then  waxed  the  hoste  angrye  and  sayd,  This  is  the  Sasson's 
maner,  for  to  drynke  both  daye  .and  nyght.  And  than  he 
called  his  mayd,  and  bad  her  that  she  should  geve  the 
merchauntes  drinke. 

"  And  than  the  mayde  rose,  and  as  she  went  to  lyght  a 


348  ROMANCES  OP  CHIVALR  K 

candel,  she  saw  the  woulf  with  ii  shoen  in  his  mouth. 
Than  she  was  afrayd,  and  ran  to  the  gardeyn,  for  she 
thought  that  he  had  eaten  both  the  chyldren  ;  than  called 
they  agayne.  Than  called  the  hoste  his  man,  and  bad  him 
rise  and  bere  the  Sassons  drynke.  Than  arose  he,  and 
lyghted  a  candle,  for  he  wened  that  the  mayde  had  slept 
still.  Then  looked  he  asyde  and  sawe  the  woulfe  stande, 
(and)  he  was  afrayd,  and  he  thought  that  the  woulfe  had 
eaten  the  mayde,  and  let  fal  the  candle,  and  ran  into  ye 
seller. 

"  Than  called  Howleglas  and  the  marchauntes  the  third 
time,  and  prayed  that  he  himself  would  bring  them  some 
drinke,  for  they  sayde  there  came  no  bodye,  or  else  geve 
them  a  candle  and  they  wold  drawe  it  themselfes.  Than 
arose  the  hoste  hymselfe,  for  he  wend  that  his  man  and 
his  mayde  were  fallen  aslepe  agayn,  and  than  lyghted  he  a 
candle,  and  whan  that  he  had  done  he  loked  asyde  and 
spyed  the  woulfe :  and  he  was  so  afrayde  that  he  fel  unto 
the  ground,  and  than  arose  he  and  cryed  to  the  mar- 
chauntes, and  he  prayed  them  for  to  come  helpe  him,  for 
there  was  a  woulf,  that  had  eaten  both  his  man  and  his 
mayde.  And  this  herde  the  mayde  in  the  gardeyn  and 
the  man  in  the  seller,  and  come  to  helpe  their  maister,  and 
the  marchauntes  also.  And  Howleglas  laughed  at  this 
hardy  man,  that  woulde  have  slayne  ten  woulfes,  and  he  was 
made  afraide  of  one  deade  woulfe.  And  whan  theyr  hoste 
saw  that  it  was  clone  in  mockage,  than  was  he  ashamed, 


HOWLEGLAS.  349 

and  he  xvyste  not  what  to  say.  And  than  left  he  his 
bostying  and  jestying,  and  went  to  bed  againe.  And  on 
the  morow  it  was  knowen  through  the  towne,  wherof  the 
hoste  was  sore  ashamed.  And  than  in  the  morning  arose 
the  marchauntes  and  paied  their  costes,  and  Howleglas 
also,  and  rode  their  way.  And  than  never  after  praysed 
the  hoste  his  manhode." 

As  in  life  he  was  mischievous,  so  was  he  in  his  exit  from 
this  world  ;  vide  , 

"  How  Howleglas  made  his  testament 

"  In  the  meane  time  waxed  Howleglas  sycker  and  sicker. 
Than  he  called  for  ye  lordes  to  make  his  testamente.  And 
whan  they  were  come  he  gave  his  grodes  in  iii  partes. 
One  parte  to  his  kynsfolke,  another  to  the  lordes  of  Molen, 
and  the  other  to  the  parson  of  Molen  whensover  he  died. 
And  he  asked  to  be  buried  in  christen  mans  buriall,  and 
to  syng  for  hys  soule,  Placebo  z  and  Dirig,  with  masses  and 
other  good  servyces,  after  the  custome  and  usans. 

"  And  than  he  shewed  to  them  a  great  chest  that  was  wel 
barred  with  yron,  and  foure  keyes  therto  belonging,  and  he 
told  unto  them  that  in  this  chest  was  all  his  goods,  and 
than  he  gave  the  cheste  to  them  to  kepe,  that  were  right 
heavy  for  him.  And  than  within  a  moneth  after  his  death, 
than  the  foure  should  take  the  keyes  therof,  and  deale  all 

1  Two  Antiphons  in  the  Roman  Catholic  Officium  Defiinctortim. 
4  4  Placebo  Domino  in  regione  vivorum "  is  sung  at  Vespers,  and  "  Dirige 
Domine  Deus  meus,  in  conspectu  tuo  viam  meam,"  at  Matins. 


350  ROMANCES  OF  CHIVALRY. 

the  money  for  his  soule.  And  within  a  whyle  after  he 
departed. 

"  And  whan  he  was  dead,  they  wound  hym  in  a  wynding 
shete,  and  after  in  a  coffyn,  and  after  on  a  here.  Than 
came  the  pryestes  and  feched  hym  to  church,  and  sung  for 
him  Placebo  and  Dirig.  And  in  the  meane  time  came  in 
a  sow  with  her  pygges,  and  went  under  the  here,  for  she 
had  founde  the  taste  of  dead  flesshe,  and  with  her  nose 
she  cast  down  the  here,  whereof  the  priestes  and  clerkes 
wer  afrayde ;  and  (when)  they  sawe  that  it  was  downe, 
than  they  ran  so  fast  that  eche  fell  on  others  necke,  for  the 
thought  that  he  had  bene  rysen  agayne,  and  so  they  lefte 
hym  there.  And  than  the  systers  of  a  nonnery  took  the 
corse,  and  brought  to  grave  and  buried  it.  And  whan 
a  moneth  was  past,  than  came  the  thre  parties  for  to  unlocke 
the  cheste,  and  for  to  deale  the  money  for  his  soule.  And 
whan  that  they  had  opened  the  cheste,  they  founde  no 
other  but  stones  therin. 

"  Than  they  woundered  therof,  and  the  one  looked  on  the 
other,  and  the  parson  wened  that  the  lordes  had  had  the 
money  because  they  had  the  chest  in  kepinge.  And  the 
lordes  wened  that  his  frendes  had  opened  the  cheste  and 
taken  out  the  tresure,  and  put  in  stones  the  whyle  that  he 
was  sycke,  and  so  to  have  shut  the  cheste  agayne.  And 
his  frendes  wende  that  the  curate  had  conveied  the  tresure 
whan  that  he  confessed  hym.  And  than  in  a  gret  anger 
they  departed  fro  thence,  for  at  the  last  they  knew  that  it 


HOWLEGLAS.  351 

was  he  that  had  done  it  for  to  mocke  them.  And  after 
that  the  lordes  and  the  curate  agreed  together  agayne,  and 
so  to  bury  hym  under  the  galowes.  And  so  they  dyd. 
And,  as  they  were  delvinge  of  his  grave,  he  stanke  so  sore 
that  they  could  not  abide  ye  ayre  therof.  And  so  they 
covered  hym  wyth  earth  agayne,  and  lete  hym  lye  styll, 
and  so  they  departed." 


Adommage  :  hurt. 

Advertyse  :  to  acquaint. 

Agayn  :  opposite,  right  before. 

Almayne  :  Germany. 

Almesses  :  alms. 

Ancresse  :  a  female  hermit. 

Apas  :  apace,  quickly. 

Appayre  :  damage. 

Apyered  :  sticking  out,  projecting. 

Arbelstre :  an  arbelast  or  cross- 
bow. 

Auctowne  :  an  Haqueton  or  quilted 
waistcoat,  worn  under  the  coat 
of  mail. 

Aunker  :  an  anchorite  or  hermit. 

Bable  :  talk. 

Basse  stone  :  window  sill. 

Bayne  :  hurt,  injury. 

Be  :  been. 

Beforne  :  before. 

Bende :  to  bow  to  circumstances. 

Bewreke :  avenge. 

Blive  :  quickly. 


Boone :  bone. 

Borowe  :  a  burgh  or  town. 

Borowe  :  a  pledge,  surety. 

Borowe  :  to  avail. 

Bote  :  beat. 

Braste  :  broke,  burst. 

Brere  :  underwood,  briar. 

Browded :  embroidered. 

Bruled  :  burnt. 

Carfull :  full  of  care. 

Chaffed  :  angry,  chafed. 

Chyk  :  cheek. 

Cleve  :  to  open  or  rend  asunder. 

Clockarde  :  probably  hand  bells. 

Clypping,  or  cleping  :  embracing. 

Comite  :  county,  district. 

Conned  :  knew. 

Continentli  or  incontinent :  soon. 

Damyse  :  damson. 
Dede  :  caused. 
Devoure :  devoir  or  duty. 
Dey  :  die. 


24 


354 


GLOSSARY. 


Did  on  :  put  on. 

Digne  :  worthy. 

Do  :  to  cause. 

Dolaunt :  sorrowful. 

Doleur :  grief. 

Doo  :  done. 

Doole  :  mourning. 

Doon  :  caused. 

Dormound  :  a  dromond  or  armed 

vessel. 

Doughty e  :  brave. 
Dowcemere  :  a  dulcimer. 
Down-tere  :  to  make  long  gashes. 
Dradde  :  fear. 
Dyghte  :  clad. 
Dynt :  stroke. 

Echone  :  each,  or  every  one. 
Eerys  :  ears. 
Erre  :  erst,  before. 
Eyen :  eyes. 
Eyled  :  ailed. 

Fane :  a  weather-cock. 

Fayne  :  glad. 

Faytte  :  fact. 

Fe  or  fee  :  property. 

Flaugh  :  flew. 

Fode  :  food. 

Fonde  :  a  token  of  affection,  kind- 
ness. 

For :  sometimes  used  instead  of 
from. 

Foyson  :  a  company,  troop. 

Fro  :  from. 

Gent :  gentle  or  soft. 
Gentry  :  birth  and  breeding. 


Getron  :  a  musical  instrument ;  a 

gittern  or  zithern. 
Glede  :  a  red-hot  coal. 
Glytte  :  to  slide. 
Grome  :  a  man. 
Gyledens  :  guldens.     Flemish  gold 

coins. 
Gynnes :  fastenings. 

Hallowes  :  saints. 
Happe  :  luck. 
Harde :  hardy,  bold. 
Heded  :  beheaded. 
Hende  :  gentle,  polite. 
Hente :  hold,  clasped. 
Hette  :  hit. 
Herborow  :  to  reside. 
Might  :  called. 
Hole  :  whole. 

Jurney  :  a  day's  work. 

Kene  :  earnest,  bold. 

Kerle  :  ceorl  or  churl,  a  labourer. 

Kerved  :  carved. 

Kest  :  cast. 

Kette  :  cut. 

Knave  :  a  man  servant. 

Lavorocke  :  a  lark. 
Lawe :  hung. 
Layne :  delay. 
Leasynge :  lying. 
Leeven  :  believe. 
Lened  :  behindhand. 
Lemman  or  leman  :  a  lover. 
Lente  :  to  remain. 
Lepe  :  to  spring. 


GLOSSARY. 


355 


Lese  :  to  lose. 

Lese :  lies. 

Lore  :  lost. 

Lough :  laugh. 

Lowe  :  a  bright  fire. 

Lynee  :  lineage,  family,  or  race. 

Malison  :  a  curse. 
Manded  :  warned  or  bidden. 
Maser  tree  :  a  hard-wood  tree. 
Mavis  :  the  singing  thrush. 
Mawmetry  :  idolatry,  from  mammet 

— an  idol,  puppet,  or  doll. 
Maye :  a  maid. 
Mede  or  meede  :  reward. 
Messe  :  missing. 
Meyne :  servants,  followers. 
Misculyne  :  a  mixed  metal. 
Mo  or  mowe  :  more. 
Mued  :  changed,  transformed. 
Musarde  :  a  dreamer. 

Naked :  unarmed. 

Ne  :  nor. 

Noie  :  annoy,  hurt,  injure. 

Nolde  :  would  not. 

Nuthake :  the  nuthatch. 

On  hye  :  loudly. 

On  live  :  alive. 

Osyll  :  the  ousel  or  blackbird. 

Ottroye  :  give,  utter. 

Owche  :  a  brooch. 

Owe  :  ought. 

Palfrener  :  a  groom. 
Pallade  :  a  rich  kind  of  cloth. 
Parements  :  furniture. 


Passed :  surpassed. 
Pautenere  :  a  purse  or  pocket. 
Pease :  appease,  quiet. 
Pesaunt :  heavy. 

Penseful :  pensive,  full  of  thought. 
Perde  :  par  Dieu,  by  God. 
Perfay  :  par  foiy  i*  faith. 
Playned  :  played  with. 
Popinjay  :  a  parrot. 
Price  or  Pryce  :  a  prize. 
Purfled  :  trimmed  or  edged. 
Pyany  :  peony. 

Rayed  :  dressed,  arrayed. 
Reck  :  to  care  about. 
Record  :  a  kind  of  flageolet. 
Rede  :  to  counsel,  advise. 
Relessed :  relieved. 
Rewfull :  rueful. 
Ribible  :  a  kind  of  fiddle. 
Roche  :  a  rock. 
Rood  :  a  cross,  crucifix. 
Rote  :  a  sort  of  cymbal. 
Ruddocke  :  a  robin. 
Ruth  :  compassion,  pity. 

Salevved  :  saluted. 

Sayne  :  say. 

Seckerly  :  securely,  surely. 

Semblable :  similar. 

Semblaunt :  resemblance,  image. 

Sered  :  enbalmed. 

Shene  :  shining. 

Shever  :  a  slice. 

Shrewed :  sure. 

Sith  :  since. 

Slo  or  sle  :  to  kill. 

Sometime  :  formerly. 


356 


GLOSSARY. 


Sowned  :  swooned,  fainted. 

Sperhauk  :  a  sparrow-hawk. 

Spert  :  sudden. 

Stercke  :  stark,  stiff. 

Sterte  or  start  :  leap  down,  alight. 

Stonde  :  hurriedly. 

Stounde  :  a  little  while. 

Stounds :  pains. 

Sue  :  to  follow,  pursue. 

Surrie :  Syria. 

Swarte  :  swarthy  or  dark. 

Syde  :  aside. 

Tables  :   draught  or  backgammon 

boards. 
The  :  they. 
Tho  :  then. 
Thrustle  :  a  thrush. 
To  :  sometimes  used  instead  of  as. 
To  fore  :  towards. 
Tonne  :  a  barrel  or  large  cask. 
Toth  :  a  tooth. 
Tre :  wood. 
Tyll  :  thereof. 
Tyres  :  attire,  dress. 


Uneathes  :  unfit,  unwieldy. 


Vavasour :  a  vassal. 
Voyded  :  emptied. 
Vylayne  :  villein,  a  labourer. 


Waloping  :  galoping. 
Wate  :  to  lie  in  wait. 
Welde  :  govern. 
Wened  :  ween  or  fancy. 
Wete  :  to  know. 
Whom  :  home. 
Witted :  twitted. 
Wone  :  plenty,  quantity. 
Woode  or  wode  :  mad. 
Woodwele  :  a  woodpecker. 
Worthied  :  was  worth. 
Wyght :  active. 
Wytte  or  wit  :  to  know. 


Ye  :  yea,  yes. 

Yede  or  yode  :  went. 

Ywis  :  I  think. 


UNVVIN   BROTHERS,   THE  GRESHAM    PRESS,   CH1LWORTH   AND   LONDON. 


14  DAY  USE 

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